The Devil Within
by Sakurafox666
Summary: In the Blood (1.4) fix-it fic. I was not happy with how Anatoly went out. This time, Matt steps between things.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Binge watching Daredevil and of course I wasn't happy with how Anatoly died. (like I get why for the story it happened) Vladimir get's a pretty badass death but anyways I needed to write a fix-it to deal with my feelings. I switch between the Russian alphabet and the English one to show when Anatoly is speaking as he normally would verses when he's trying to enunciate for Matt. The Russian comes from google translate so I'm really sorry for probably butchering the language.

There's several kinks in here, be warned. Both Matt and Anatoly are kinda fucked up people. Love them.

Might write more, might not.

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* * *

Matthew inhaled the thick night air. It stank of filth and pollution, but that wasn't new and almost familiar now. Hell's Kitchen was nothing if not consistent in its squalor.

He _needed_ to walk; had to get out and clear his head. The itch of restlessness crawled across his skin and consumed him. Humid air clogged at Matt's senses and drove him to pace faster, unable to stop his mind from overanalyzing all the events that had transpired today.

Claire was safe and that's all that should matter. Yet...he could still feel her swollen cheeks under his fingers, her sobs in that garage soaked with blood clung to his memories. The world was too vibrant, like overly bright holiday decorations that burned when you touched; all of Matthew's senses were on overdrive to the point of being painful.

Adrenaline coursed through Matthew's body—he couldn't dim _anything_ —and thus he was prowling the streets, making his way towards the Hudson River. Sometimes the water could drown out his senses, other times he could only smell the decaying flesh that rotted underneath the surface. This city was a curse, _his_ curse, but he needed to try and save it.

Even if it was slowly killing him.

The slow drip of water from a pipe grated on Matthew's nerves; he pulled on his collar subconsciously. He had changed clothes, peeling off the blood-drenched black shirt of his alter ego and settling for his hoodie and training sweats. He was done looking for trouble tonight.

He would rather be done putting others in harm's way.

Matthew exhaled sharply, dragging his fingers through his hair. The sound of the river crept into his senses, rushing and slapping against rocks and stone.

He should be in this fight _alone_.

 _Tick, tick, tick_.

Matthew froze.

 _Tick, tick, tick_.

God, he knew that sound. That man, the one from Union Allied, what was his name? James Wesley. The man who's heartbeat was never quite right when he spoke. Not an outright lie, but something worse. Matthew sped up his steps further, focusing all his attention on his hearing.

There were three heartbeats. Could he be with his employer? The man hidden in the shadows; Wilson Fisk?

More than the heartbeats Matt heard the sound of fighting: skin hitting skin, the crunch of bones, painful gasps. _What the hell?_ There was blood in the air, the tang of metal on his tongue, and the atmosphere prickled with tension. His instincts kicked in and Matthew broke out into a run.

Someone was about to be killed.

Ahead, incomprehensible screaming and the sound of a car door opening, a body being dragged across pavement.

"Hey!" The noise ripped itself from his throat. Matthew barely remembered in time that he was just a man right now, not his masked self. One of the heartbeats was erratic and weak; terrified and dying.

 _Tick, tick, tick_.

"Sir!" Wesley's voice. Curt, but not loud enough for a normal person to hear. He was trying to be discreet. A wet slap and a thud as a body his the ground, fragile gasps from whoever it was. A crunch of gravel as a body shifted. Matthew tensed himself, he could smell blood on the man's fists. That _had_ to be Fisk.

What had he walked into?

"— _no, sir_. He's important, one of the lawyers we're using." Hushed whispers only Matthew's hearing would be able to pick out from this distance.

He decided to play up his blindness. "Is someone there? I thought I heard something. Hello?"

"We need to leave _now_."

"He's a witness." A dark, rich voice. Deep with an undercurrent of rage. Matthew felt his skin crawl. _Danger_.

"He's _blind_." The dismissive tone in Wesley's voice was exactly what Matthew wanted. That's right, underestimate him. "I know you're upset, but this is a delicate situation." A quick shuffle of steps and the scrap of plastic. "We'll take his phone as bait for the other, pit the Russians against that vigilante idiot and deal with two problems at once."

"Fine. Just have to finish up this last thing—" Another shift in the gravel as someone moved and the weakened heartbeat became frantic.

"We don't have time! He'll be dead with these injuries regardless." That was loud enough that Matthew could get away with being able to hear that. He started forward again, reaching his hand out like he was trying to find his way.

"Is everything alright?" He tried to make his voice as soft and unsuspecting as he could. If he could just get a little closer—

"Sir!" There was a slam of car doors and the roar of an engine. Matthew had to fight his reaction from leaping forward as the squeal of tires on the pavement veered towards him. Instead he made his body cringe and brace for a blow as a car blew past him, wind knocking him sideways. That was what a normal person would do, right?

Damn it! He had been _so_ close to Fisk. A few meters more and he could have taken out Wesley and then faced the man who had caused the root of his city's misery and pain. He could have finally done something that would have had an impact. An action that would have had _real_ meaning.

Shit.

"Fuck!" His fist slammed against the ground. It wasn't smart. The pavement tore at the skin on his knuckles and he was bleeding again. Whatever.

He concentrated, breathing deeply to memorize the scent that Fisk had left behind. Expensive cologne, but subtle, not overpowering. Wine; a red, floral with acidic notes. Hints of some type of well-cooked meat. He had been at a restaurant? Blood; still drying on his hands— _oh_.

Matthew snapped out of his trace. He had other things to worry about first. He ran the last few yards and dropped down next to the person that Fisk had been trying to kill. Whoever they were they could have vital information, he _needed_ them alive.

"Hey," Matthew tilted the man's head head, listening for a heartbeat. It was there; faint, but there. Their breathing was labored and wet, like they had been coughing up blood. Matthew could barely smell anything past the blood, but something was familiar about the scent. What had Wesley said, the Russians? "Hey, what's your name?" But he already had a suspicion.

" _Помогите_..."

Well, Matthew couldn't understand Russian, but he did recognize the voice. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. It was one of the Ranskahov brothers, the older one, Anatoly. They'd fought briefly before. But didn't they work for Fisk? We would he be trying to kill his own?

"Ok, I need you alive." Matthew hauled the man up and over his shoulders, ignoring the low groan of pain. "I need answers."

It was going to be a long walk back to his place.

* * *

It was only as Matthew was standing outside his door that he realized this might be a horrible idea. Claire was sleeping inside on his couch, he could hear her soft even breathing from here. She had just been tortured by the Russians and now he was bringing one of their leaders, bleeding and dying, for her to patch up.

She might not be so keen on the idea. Matthew certainly wasn't and he actually _wanted_ this man alive.

Speaking of, Anatoly stirred slightly in his grip. He kept trying to move every few minutes, or try to say something, but it was all Russian and probably gibberish.

"Shh," Matthew shushed him. He would try to do this by himself first. Waking Claire just didn't seem like a great idea. She was a good person, she would probably try to do the right thing, but...did Anatoly deserve it?

Matthew had a crime lord slung over his shoulder who ran a human trafficking ring, at best he deserved prison. Matthew should have left him in the street, or worse still let him get killed however Fisk intended. He should _not_ have brought the man back to his place to try and heal him.

" _Volodya_..."

He kept repeating that word. Matthew didn't know what it meant. He felt the weight of the man resting against him, heard him struggle to take in a breath and the pained wheeze as it left his lungs. _Oh God_. He wanted to save his city and the people in it, and this was one of them: a person in his city who need help.

Sometimes it's a blurred line for Matthew, other times it was a sharp one.

He turned the handle for his door and quietly slipped in, past Claire's sleeping figure and into his bedroom, clicking the door shut behind himself. He carefully eased Anatoly off his shoulders and onto his bed, realizing he was probably going to get blood all over his sheets. Wouldn't be the first time.

He really needed to invest in red or black sheets.

"... _Кто ты?_ " It was like listening to shards of broken glass scrape across the floor. His vocal cords were probably damaged in the fight. Matthew shook his head.

"I can't understand you," he whispered. Matthew needed to assess this man's injuries as there were definitely a few broken ribs with the way he was breathing. Funny, he hadn't really done much patching up since his father died and now twice in one day he was using this old skill.

Worn leather met Matthew's fingertips as he tugged off Anatoly's jacket. The man didn't resist at all, but Matt got the sense he was being watched; it was slightly unnerving.

"What can you tell me about Fisk?" He might as well try to get information out of the criminal. There was a slight intake of breath, maybe Anatoly had been about to answer, but it was broken by a series of violent hacking coughs that hurt to listen to. Matthew winced in spite of himself. He shouldn't really care, this man deserved all the pain he got. "Alright, questions can wait."

He lifted the hem of Anatoly's shirt up, pushing the fabric up until most of his chest was uncovered. He grazed his fingers over the exposed flesh, biting the inside of his mouth at the feeling. Matthew's senses were still on high alert and his fingers were hyper sensitive. Skin on skin contact was...stimulating.

"...болит." Matthew stopped. That sounded like a complaint. He examined the area of the chest he had stopped at. It felt swollen, and hot, like a rush of blood: a broken rib. Matt continued his search and found two more broken ribs. Thankfully, they felt more like fractures that could be bound, rather than bones he would have to slide back into place. Then he would have had to wake Claire.

"One sec—" Matthew had plastic wrap in the kitchen. He'd used it several times on himself in a pinch. He stood up to leave and felt the air shift around him as a hand shot out and latched onto his.

"Стой!" Matthew let a frustrated sigh escape him.

"I can't underst—

" _Stop_." Oh thank God, finally English. " _You_..." Anatoly's voice shook with the effort. If Matt actually thought about it, it probably wasn't easy to translate yourself after getting your head beaten in.

"I'm just getting something to wrap your chest in, then you can answer my questions," he explained.

"You...are man in mask?" Matthew went completely still. The hand around his wrist tightened. It was asked as a question, but Anatoly's heart told him he was certain.

"How'd you know?"

"How you... _move_. Your footsteps, like killer's."

Shit, he was that obvious? Although, Matt didn't think the criminal had been paying that close attention since he was fading in and out of consciousness. This was his own fault, he should have been more careful. "Also...your face. Without mask, easy—easy to read..." The voice broke into a weak cough. Matthew clenched his jaw. Foggy always said he had a horrible poker face.

"Just—I'll be right back." He needed space now, but the hand didn't let go of him. The grip was surprisingly tight for someone close to death.

" _Почему ты помогаешь?_ Uh...why help?" The desperation hit Matthew like a brick wall. It was hard, hearing someone you considered an enemy sound that vulnerable. Made them sound human. Blurred the lines.

"You have answers. I have questions." Matthew shook the hand off and pulled his door open, padding mutely over to his kitchen and grabbing his med kit and plastic wrap.

Claire's heartbeat and breathing were still even and smooth. Matthew basked for a moment in the calm before heading back to his bedroom. Anatoly had fallen back into a haze, quiet and unmoving as Matthew securely bound his chest. His breathing evened out a little, not sounding as broken.

Matthew moved his hand up to the other man's face, preparing to find most of the damage there. What he didn't expect was to be hit with a wave of nostalgia and a severe sense of déjà vu. Different than Claire as the features were much closer to his father's, Matt felt his heartbeat skyrocket.

Finger pads gently brushed over swollen and broken skin, tracing over the jaw and feeling hints of rough stubble. The hair on the back of Matthew's arm stood up. Slowly he made his way over high cheek bones, buried under several inflamed bruises that left one eye unable to open. The bridge of Anatoly's nose was broken but that had been Matthew's fault earlier in the day and he could tell the bone had been set. Finally his fingers landed on chapped lips, split open on the left side and bleeding.

This...was a little too intimate for Matt. Feeling someone's face like this, picturing their features—he felt heat rise to his cheeks and promptly squashed that feeling.

A warm breath tickled his fingertips as Anatoly stirred. Matthew felt like he'd been shocked.

" _Man in mask...have pretty face_ ," his accent was so thick Matthew had a hard time understanding him. A tongue swiped out and caught the edge of Matthew's finger. Blood pounded in his ears. " _Позор, что вы скрываете свое лицо_."

Matthew felt it then—what he called his Devil. The dark desires that lived inside of him, pushed him to go farther than he wanted. Pushed him to hunt, wanted him to kill.

" _God_..." He took a shaky breath. He wouldn't give in to something like this. A man barely breathing he was so badly beat.

"Why scared, _ubiytsa_?" Matthew's hand shook, every time Anatoly spoke he would feel his lips move and the air rush past from the breaths he took. _He shouldn't do this to himself_.

"Wh-what did you call me?" The word had been almost over-pronounced. Like he had wanted Matthew to understand the word.

" _Убийца_. _Ubiytsa._ How you say...assassin? The men call you that."

"I don't kill people."

"We shall see." Matthew could feel the lips stretch into a crooked smile before his finger was engulfed in the wet heat, teeth scraping the skin and Matthew was suddenly _so hard_. He gasped, jerking forward. " _Ispol'zuyte eto telo_ ," Anatoly murmured around his fingers and Matthew felt his Devil claw at his chest.

Contrary to what Foggy believed, Matthew hadn't been with anyone for a long time. His senses so frenzied after everything that had happen and his body was begging for a release, an outlet. Normally he would channel it into his punching bag and spend several hours hammering away at the gym...but this... _God_. He could hear Anatoly's heartbeat, could smell his arousal underneath the blood.

Matthew let out a small hysterical giggle, "You're insane."

"Да." Uneven breathing met Matthew's fingers. " _Хотеть. Please_."

Murdock boys have a little bit of the Devil in them, his grandmother always said; Matthew let his Devil out.

His lips devoured Anatoly's. He knew he was putting too much pressure at the muffled cry he received, but he didn't let up. He consumed every whimper, gasp, and groan as he ravaged the mouth underneath his. He needed to tasted everything; the blood, the sweat and tears. At some point his right hand had gripped Anatoly's hair and clenched hard, bearing the other man's neck to him.

Despite verbal protests, the lips under Matt's moved with his. Matched his actions and fought just as greedily. A trembling tongue met his, sliding along the roof of Matthew's mouth and swirling, coaxing several noises out of Matt and leaving the blind man dizzy. Sharp teeth pulled at his lips and Matthew thrust his hips forward, a soft moan escaping him.

He pulled back sharply, gulping lungfuls of air like he had never taken a proper breath before. Underneath, Anatoly was doing the same.

" _Imya?_ Name?" Shaky fingers reached up and touched Matthew's jaw. He flinched.

"S-sorry." He was too rough, always too rough. Fuck.

"Strange name," Anatoly huffed, but it petered out into a pained gasp. " _More_ ," he panted. "I take all you have." Matthew couldn't help what he did next. His hand moved on its own, skimming down Anatoly's body until he felt his belt, he gripped the dense fabric of his jeans and felt the bulging erection. A jolt of pleasure shot down Matthew's spine and both men moaned.

His fingers fumbled, ripped at the zipper and he was gone. Matthew lost himself to his desires as he drew out heated flesh, sensitive fingers memorizing everything. Anatoly was cut, smooth skin with several veins running along his shaft. Around the ridge of his head were three dydoe piercings perfectly spaced apart.

Matthew almost came right then.

Instead, he buried his head in the other man's thigh and tried to breath through his peaking excitement. It was difficult, an annoying part of his brain was imagining what it would feel like that have a dick like that slide into him; if the piercings would graze his prostate. Matthew's body trembled at the mental image. He was _so_ weak, so tempted.

"Do you _like_ pain?" He lifted his head and heard and Anatoly struggled to speak, both from his injuries and arousal.

" _Да_ , certain types of pain." Matthew squeezed, running his finger over the piercings, and felt Anatoly's body spasm. " _More_ ," was quietly hissed at him and Matthew smiled. "What is name?" Anatoly tried one more time. " _Хотеть_ —please."

Matthew gripped Anatoly tightly again, making the man buckle and gasp. This could be a trick, he could be trying to get information out of Matthew to use later. He ran his thumb over the head and felt the first drop of liquid squeeze out; his mouth started to water. The heartbeat underneath him was hiding nothing, the breathy moans and hitched gasps spoke clearly as to what Anatoly's motivations were. Why? Who knew, maybe the man really was crazy. Matthew was just as bad indulging in this, sucking off a man so terribly injured he could barely move. He grew harder just thinking about how wrong it all was.

" _Don't trust me, can understand—_ "

"Matthew," he sighed and then dove down, taking as much of Anatoly in his mouth as he could. Texture like a thick velvet, hints of a metallic tang from the piercings, and heady scent of musk made Matthew's head spin. He tucked his teeth behind his lips and dragged his tongue up along the shaft, swirling at the head and feeling Anatoly shake underneath him. An unsteady hand wove it's way through his hair and Matt relished in the tremble that went down his spine at the sensation.

His scalp was just as oversensitive as the rest of him and he moaned as Anatoly's fingers lightly scratched, encouraging him. Matthew poured himself into the act, lavishing all his attention and efforts onto Anatoly, taking him as deep as he could until the man was a throbbing mess. Quiet sobs and pleas making Matthew taunt as a wire, ready to snap. His own erection weeping, soaking through the fabric of his sweats. He wanted to come so badly just from listening to what he was doing to Anatoly.

He used both his hands, rubbing and pressing against the slicked erection. Wherever his mouth couldn't reach he'd make sure his fingers could, slipping down further to cup the other man's sac, rolling them around and feeling Anatoly's thighs shake. He tongued the slit, tasting as more precome leaked out, and sucked with enough force to make any man's toes curl.

" _Matvey!_ " The fingers in his hair dropped suddenly, unable to keep up their grip and Matt pulled himself off with a wet pop. It was satisfying to hear Anatoly's whine at the sight that must have been. " _W-will soon_..."

That was oddly polite, that he was trying to warn Matt. A sharp stab of desire caught him off guard and Matthew threw himself back down, licking Anatoly's length like it was the best damn candy he had ever tried. Lapping it from base to head, feeling as Anatoly's breathing became even more wreaked. He came with a soft, broken cry and Matthew's mouth filled with warm liquid. He gagged—first time and everything, but he swallowed quickly, not even trying to define the taste, and took a deep breath.

"Shit."

" _Да_ ," Anatoly panted next to him. They both went still, listening. Matthew heard Claire's breathing, still slow and steady and gave a sigh of relief. He turned his hearing back to Anatoly, his heartbeat was coming back down but his breaths were becoming shallow and pained.

"D-did I hurt you?" Matthew didn't like the way his voice sounded then. Weak. He shouldn't have given in. These animalistic urges ruined everything.

"Fisk hurt me, try to kill me," Anatoly responded after a moment, thread of terror running through his voice. He tried moving, maybe to sit up, but collapsed immediately with a pained grunt. "You give best—how you say—blow job?"

"Fuck, that's pathetic, I can't have been good." Matthew wanted to laugh again but his head hurt, the straining erection between his legs hurt even more.

" _Ерунда_. I not lie, I—" Matthew could hear it, when exhaustion took over and Anatoly choked back a sob of frustration. More than that...his heartbeat was off.

"You're scared? Why?"

"Does matter? I—" Again his voice trailed off, he was having trouble focusing, staying awake. It terrified the other man for some reason. Matthew leaned forward, even after orgasm Anatoly was still half hard, felt further down and pressed against his perineum, massaging it. "... _пощада_ ," Anatoly gasped out. Matthew stopped, withdrew his hand and listened as Anatoly fell into an uneasy sleep.

There would be no answers tonight. Just too many questions and a headache.

Matthew took a cold shower, trying to wash everything he felt away. It didn't work and he still ended up jerking himself off like an angsty teenager. Afterwards he stood at the foot of his bed, listening to the two guests he had in his home. Claire still steady; Anatoly weak and uneven.

He was so fucked.

Matthew crawled to the empty side of his bed, fatigue overcoming his worries and he fell gratefully onto his pillow. Anatoly stirred, mumbling " _Volodya_ " in his sleep. Matthew brought a hand up to trace over his features one last time, remembering that last time he felt his father's face. Cold and unmoving on the pavement, blood sticky and cloying. Funny, this man almost ended up the same way if Matthew hadn't been walking by. Would have been another corpse that Hell's Kitchen would have claimed. It wasn't really that funny. Matthew blinked the tears out of his eyes, fingers dropping to trace lips one last time.

" _Matvey..._ "

Matthew's eyes fell shut and when he dreamed, the color came rushing back into his life.

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	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I didn't mean to keep writing, but here we are.

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* * *

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A pulse, slow and steady, dragged Matt back into consciousness. The beat of Claire's heart grew steadily stronger as she awakened more fully. Matthew's own senses spread out, unfurling and reading the morning air like a person would read the newspaper. The air around them was dry, no chance of rain. The gentle pop of bones meant that Claire was stretching; she had slept surprisingly well on that appalling couch.

Matthew listened to the other heartbeat next to him; Anatoly was still in a deep sleep with a fragile, but stable heartbeat. Every breath he took sounded like a creaking ship, indicating how many fractures riddled his body. How could one person survive such a beating? Matt reached a hand out to brush against the other man's face—

"Matt?" Claire's voice called out.

The squeak of leather and soft thump as her feet touched the ground meant she was getting up. Matthew bolted upright and sprang out of bed. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He had _not_ thought this through. She would see—

" _Oh my God_. Who the hell is that, Matt!?"

"Claire," he started, but her heartbeat was dramatically quickening. "It's not what you think—"

"He needs help! Like _actual_ medical attention— _is that plastic wrap!?_ " The air swirled around them as she reached forward to try and help.

"He's one of the Russians."

That stopped Claire in her tracks.

"I found him last night when I went out for a walk. Fisk was about to kill him and I interrupted."

"You _saw_ Fisk?"

Matthew longed to roll his eyes, but instead he politely paused to let her words sink in.

"...right." He could almost hear her wince. "Sorry, Matt."

"I heard his voice and the man he works with, but I didn't have my mask so I just pretended to stumble in. They left him to die, assuming he wouldn't last too much longer. I brought him back here to patch up, but I didn't want to wake you."

Claire's heart was pounding, blood rushing through her veins. She was livid. "Is this Vladimir?"

"No, it's his brother."

"Jesus..." She released a long sigh, like she was trying to deflate her own anger. "He's still scum, you should have left him out there."

Matt tilted his head, concentrating. "You don't believe that."

"I _hate_ that you can do that," she let out a strained chuckle. The wood of the floor creaked as she kneeled down to look over Anatoly. "We might still have to get his ribs checked, they look broken."

"They aren't, just fractures." Matthew didn't need sight to know that Claire was giving him an incredulous glance. "I can—um, hear the difference."

"You...are a piece of work, my friend." The sliding of hair along fabric told him she gently shook her head. He imagined she wore a soft smile on her face. "Why's his belt undone?"

"Uh..." Panic, like Matt hadn't experienced in awhile, flooded through his body. He immediately broke into a cold sweat.

"Oh, I see the laceration," Claire continued. "Yeah, goes down past his thigh. Must have been kicked, his hipbone is swollen and bruised. I can't believe you can tell _all_ of this without any kind of sight."

"It's j-just, I see differently." Matthew tried not to let his voice crack as he sent a silent prayer to God for his fortune. "You have to think of it as more than just five senses."

"Hmmm, _sure_." A scrap of plastic as she grabbed the med kit he left on the nightstand. "I'll see what I can do about his face and check him over for other injuries. Since he survived the night I think its safe to say he's gonna stick it out a little longer. You get your info from this guy and we can take Fisk down, I see where your head's at."

Matthew couldn't hold back a small grin. "Thank you, Claire."

"Oh, don't thank me yet. Once this one wakes up, I'm slapping him for what his brother did to me. And when I get a hold of his brother, I'll do worse than that." She was working herself up into a frenzy, but Claire was a good person. She wouldn't needlessly hurt a defenseless man. Anatoly was safe; for now. "He's going to be out for awhile. If you want information sooner you'll have to go knocking on someone else's door."

Matt shrugged. "That's fine. If one brother can't talk, I'll ask the other."

"Punch that one extra hard for me, will you?" Claire asked. Matthew laughed with her and it felt nice. He trusted Claire and she handled everything thrown at her fairly well, all things considered. That was so rare to find nowadays.

"Call me if Sleeping Beauty wakes up," Matt yawned and padded over into his bathroom to get dressed for work.

"Hey, don't mock him. You have a lot in common with this heap of bruises here."

Matthew paused. "How so?"

"You two can both take one hell of a beating."

* * *

Vladimir's skin felt too tight, like he was trapped in a cage of flesh. He itched to throw a chair across the room, to punch the wall until his knuckles split. He wanted to feel the crunch of a man's bones as he strangled the life from him.

Vladimir Ranskahov didn't excel at waiting. He fiddled with the cell phone in his hand, tapping a nail against the plastic case erratically. This was such bullshit, Anatoly was fine. He'd been angry that Vladimir hadn't wanted to bow and beg like a dog for scraps and so had done it himself. He had thrown away his pride so Vladimir could keep his. He had a right to be angry.

 _Still…_

" _Fuck!_ " He lashed out at his chair, kicking it so it spun away before toppling over. His brother was a fucking cunt, playing with him so Vladimir would worry. The blonde flipped his phone open and dialed his brother's number for the seventh time. " _It's me again_ ," Vladimir filled his words with venom. " _Call me back. Shithead._ "

When Anatoly came back there would be a reckoning. He imagined his brother was passed out in some little bitch's bedroom—he _never_ had to pay—would just go to a bar and pick some _shlyukha_ up. He could always find another bed when he wanted to avoid Vladimir. It was such utter bullshit.

A knock on the door dragged him out of his thoughts.

" _Enter_."

His hopes of it being one of the boys saying they had spotted his brother were dashed as a sharp suit greeted him. The little pussy lapdog of Fisk; Wesley. Vladimir resisted the urge to shoot the man in front of him. His every word grated on the Russian's nerve. Americans always sounded like they were trying to sell something.

"My employer sends his regards," Wesley beamed widely as he sauntered into the office, " _and_ his gratitude that his offer was accepted." Vladimir unceremoniously dropped into his chair, keeping his face neutral and unimpressed. His brother threw his pride away for this man and now he came here to gloat. "There's still a few details we have...to...iron out..." He eyes darted around the room, as if searching. Vladimir narrowed his own eyes. What was this little _mu'dak_ playing at?

"Uh, where's your brother?" Wesley's stance changed, became more guarded. Vladimir rolled his eyes; everyone preferred his brother's presence.

"It was a thing I was going to ask you." Vladimir didn't like speaking English. They structured their sentences in a funny way and added too many words to say simple things. His brother liked it even less, couldn't speak it as well as Vladimir. "Last time I saw him, he was heading to see Mister—" Vladimir cut himself off, choked down his words. His brother discarded his dignity so they could make it through this. Vladimir would honor that. "— _your employer_."

His blood boiled at the smug grin on Wesley's face.

"Ha! He practically kissed me when we agreed to terms," the other man proclaimed. Vladimir's stomach churned; this little bitch lied with every breath he took. "Does he have a girl—or, uh a _boy_ he might be celebrating with?"

It stung that a man they barely knew had come to the same conclusion about his brother that Vladimir had. Although, Anatoly was less likely celebrating and more doing it to spite Vladimir. He clenched his jaw at the sly look Wesley gave him, as if he _knew_ his brother. This little shit wasn't even Anatoly's type.

His brother was attracted to only two types of people. Either he'd found some dangerous woman in high heels (or man in a leather coat) who looked like they would enjoy crushing you beneath their heels or—worse yet—some sad puppy-eyed kid with a sob story. That's it. That's all his brother was drawn to. Both were a nightmare to deal with.

This man in a suit didn't know the first thing about Anatoly.

"Did you try his cell?" Wesley asked. Vladimir wanted to hurl it at him.

Instead, he just looked down at his own phone. "He does not answer."

"Try again," Wesley ordered. A vein throbbed in Vladimir's head. "We need to get this locked down and distribution back to—"

The door opened with a crack as Sergei stepped into the room. He was pale and his eyes looked at Vladimir in fear and regret. Every step he took forward made the younger Russian's heart clench.

 _No, no, no, no._ Please, just let his brother be fucking some little whore in a bed somewhere. Let him be in a bar getting drunk early in the morning. Anatoly could even be leaving the city, fed up with Vladimir's shit. Let him be anywhere but—

" _We found him_ ," Sergei sighed. " _Or—what we could find left of him_." He tossed Anatoly's cracked phone onto the table, red smeared across the broken screen. Vladimir stared at it, unblinking. " _There was blood everywhere, it was a messy fight. Anatoly did not go down without a struggle_."

" _Wh-where's his body?_ " Vladimir must have been the one to ask but he didn't know how. His voice seemed stuck, caught in his throat unable to escape. He felt a scream start to build in his chest.

" _There's...not much left_." Sergei shifted his weight from one foot to another. He glanced back at Wesley who looked back nonplussed, unable to understand what they were saying. " _We found a barrel, burned black with bones at the bottom. Only thing left besides his phone. We found it on the pavement by his blood._ "

" _Bones...that's all that's left of my brother?_ " Vladimir's hand went to his chest, felt through his shirt his mother's ring he wore at all times. Anatoly had their father's. His eyes frantically met Sergei's. He understood and shook his head.

" _I checked, Volodya. The fire must have burned too hot, there's nothing left._ "

Vladimir had experienced a lot of pain throughout his life, but nothing came close to the white-hot sharp stab in his chest as he realized his brother was gone. He had been too young when their parents had died to truly experience loss. This...this was too much. Terrible rage consumed the pain and all Vladimir could see was red.

" _We did find something more, but it wasn't your brother's._ " A black piece of cloth was thrown next to Anatoly's phone. Vladimir's fingers shook as he reached for it.

"The man in the mask," Wesley whispered as he put two and two together.

" _He sends us a message_ ," Sergei spit out.

Vladimir's whole body trembled. He could barely see, hardly think through the burning rage. He was on fire, like his brother must have been before he died. " _Tolik_..." Vladimir kept his voice from breaking, but it was a near thing.

He wanted to die.

"I have message for this masked man too... _HE IS A DEAD MAN!_ "

* * *

The night air bit Matthew's skin as he listened, lulled by the soft voice of the Chinese man in the cab. The notes drifted through the air, the vibrations a warm embrace. It was sung in a low, heartbreaking pitch that caught in Matt's chest. He released a slow breath, centering himself and his heart. The music settled, like a thick blanket, around him as he waited for the Russians.

Matthew recognized one word from the song; moonlight. It was a fitting piece to play then as the Russians stepped out and Matt flung himself forward, spinning gracefully as the music flowed through his body. It abruptly stopped with the crack of glass.

More men poured from the door and the click of a safety was all the warning Matt had as he dove for cover behind the car. The thunder of gunshots always disoriented him, drowning out other senses for a moment—the noise took up so much space.

 _BAM!_

Matt flinched at the splat of blood and brains across the window next to him. The jagged tang of iron from blood and the bitter grit of gunpowder coated his mouth and throat, making it difficult to breath. Matthew yanked the car door open to give himself more cover and let the darkness shroud him as he slid underneath.

He couldn't save that man with the somber voice and haunting song.

The remaining two men stank of fear and their movements were jittery; Matt dispatched them with little effort. He pursued the fleeing Russian and slammed him to the ground, preparing for a difficult interrogation.

" _Where's Vladimir!?_ "

The smaller man broke instantly. " _No please!_ Please, please I'll tell you what you want to know!" Matt paused, listening to the man's erratic heartbeat and the terror in his voice. That had been easier than he thought. "I'll tell you what you want, just please don't burn me alive!"

"Wh—" Matt almost dropped out of character. He regained his voice quickly. " _What are you talking about?_ "

"Like what you did to Anatoly!" The man under him shook like a rag doll. "Everyone knows you tossed him bloody and broken into the trash and set him on fire until there was nothing but bones and ash!"

Matthew felt his jaw drop, unable to contain the reaction. _What the fuck?_

The scream of sirens and screech of rubber from tires alerted him to the police. Matt jolted up, dropping the petrified Russian, and rushed up the walls to the relative safety of the rooftop. He listened for a moment, but his mind was otherwise occupied with what he had just been told.

Clearly, everything just got a lot more complicated.

* * *

It got more even complicated as Matt listened to the same Russian scream for mercy as he was murdered in the police station. The bang of the bullet blanketed all of Matthew's senses, leaving only a buzzing sensation behind. The commotion around his was muted as he stood there, body numb with shock as people rushed and bumped passed him.

Wilson Fisk's shadow was long indeed. Nowhere was safe.

* * *

At least Matthew now had another lead he could question. He watched the crooked cop flick out his phone and gave a low growl of disgust. People like him where the reason he couldn't trust the law to always get things done. The man below was a large part of the reason why Matt became this masked vigilante.

He felt no remorse as he twisted the man's arm until it started to break, felt the Devil inside demand more; demand _death_.

Again the accusation was thrown at Matt about his part in Anatoly's death. How he loved killing Russians and watching them scream as he burned them alive. Bile rose in the back of Matt's throat just hearing about it. Wilson Fisk was playing him. Pitting Vladimir against him in the hope that two problems would eliminate each other.

When he heard the truth in the cop's heart about Vladimir's unknown whereabouts, Matt knew he had tapped this source dry. He couldn't even act surprised when the man tried to get the jump on him. All he had now was a phone he couldn't read.

And a Russian in his bed.

Time to ask his questions.

* * *

Anatoly awoke to his lungs being set on fire.

He must have shouted because he suddenly felt hands on him, pushing him down so he wouldn't sit up. _He couldn't see_ —

 _ **"**_ _Volodya!_ " he called out to his brother. _What happened?_ There was a searing pain in his right wrist, it was familiar: a broken bone. He hadn't been in this much pain since that shit hole of a prison back in Russia. " _Volodya_ …"

"I said snap out of it!" A sharp slap from a very small female hand broke through and Anatoly started putting everything together.

Fisk—the cold pavement as he was dragged to the car to be killed—the screech of tires as he was left to bleed out—someone hovering over him—slung over another man's shoulders—his blood dripping on the ground as he watched his broken hand dangle uselessly—hands trying to heal him—a face.

" _Matvey_."

Matthew's eyes, Anatoly remembered. They were gentle even as he lashed out with biting words. His lips and mouth scorching like a branding iron. His fingers delicate as he traced over Anatoly's face.

"Matthew?"

Anatoly struggled as was finally able to open one eye. The woman who had hit him stood to his side, hovering nervously with eyes like wild animal. " _What?_ " he asked.

"What?" she replied and he realized he hadn't spoken English. "Did you say Matt's name?"

"You..." Anatoly tried to organize what he wanted to say. He hated English. Vladimir was much better at it. "You know Matvey?"

The woman's eyes narrowed. " _I'm_ asking the question here."

" _Where is Matvey?_ " Anatoly tried to make his voice more aggressive, but his throat felt dry and swollen and he could hardly breath as it was. The woman quirked an eyebrow, not looking frightened in the least.

"Before you try again, _don't_ sit up. You have multiple fractured ribs, a broken wrist and probably a concussion. I tried to patch you up best I could, but if Matt hadn't dragged you back you'd be dead, plain and simple."

"You...help Matvey? Why?" A thought struck Anatoly. "Who are you to him?"

"Yeah, about that," the woman stepped forward. She struck with blinding speed and Anatoly would swear to his grave he didn't yelp like a dog. His good hand covered his face and he started to panic. "That's for torturing me, you sick fuck."

"Wh-what?" Anatoly's head was spinning and he wanted to vomit. He rolled onto his side, face going white and the woman rushed away; a trash basket was shoved under his face suddenly. Which was perfect, since he completely emptied the contents of his stomach a second later. It burned at his abused throat and Anatoly gasped, struggling to breath.

"Hey, hey, easy. Take a slow breath, try not to fight it. Looks like someone attempted to crush your windpipe. Swallowing is going to be difficult the next few days."

Anatoly's body shook as he glanced up at the woman. "I-I do not know you."

"I'm the girl your brother had kidnapped and tortured to reveal the location of the man in the mask."

" _What?_ " He must sound like a broken record. Vladimir had mentioned something about a lead to finding the man in the mask. He hadn't realized he meant her. It explained why the boys had been so thoroughly thrashed at the garage. "Ugh," Anatoly snorted and rolled onto his back with grunt, "my brother does not think things through. Kidnapping you was foolish move, only anger man in mask. He does not tell me when he does stupid things, knows I will disagree."

"You..." the woman's eyes shifted to the basket he had just thrown up in. "You didn't know?"

"No."

"Oh, sorry about the slap then." She had the decency to look ashamed.

"I have done many things to deserve it," Anatoly shrugged and regretted it immediately. He tried to take a deep breath and winced at the pain. "May I have water?" he asked, hoping he would be granted at least that.

"Oh my God—yeah, hold on." The woman hurried out again and Anatoly had a chance to look around. A sparse, but nice open loft. He could see into the next room where a stiff couch was, a few blankets stacked on top. This was the only bed, meaning Matthew had let him sleep on his own bed.

It wasn't a terrible thought.

Anatoly felt something in his chest, a stirring sensation. Longing. Matthew's eyes had been sad, never looking directly at Anatoly. Some people were like that, didn't want to face what they were doing. The Russian reached up and felt his swollen face; or maybe he was too ugly to stare at right now.

Vladimir always said he fell hard for a tragic story and broken eyes.

"Here." Anatoly startled at the glass of water pushed into view. The woman helped him lean up a bit with the aid of several pillows. He took the cup with his good hand. "Small sips," she reminded him and Anatoly nodded. He carefully took a drink and closed his eye as the water soothed its way down his throat.

" _Thank you_."

"I hope that was a thank you."

Anatoly groaned. He _hated_ English. " _Da_ , that was 'thank you.'"

The woman eyed him with suspicion. "Matt called earlier and said he was on his way back, I hope you're ready to talk."

"Of _course_ ," Anatoly emphasized. "I owe Matvey my life. As soon as he tells Vladimir I am alive and what Fisk did, my brother will abandon Fisk. Our knowledge and resources will be yours."

"He doesn't want your disgusting traffic ring, you pig." Anatoly let the insults slide. He had heard much worse in his life. "He just wants everything you have on Fisk so he can take him down in court."

Anatoly gave a sharp bark of laughter. Pain lanced through his chest at the action, but it was worth it. "Fisk _owns_ judges. There is only one way to deal with men like Fisk."

The woman crossed her arms. "The law is how _decent_ people handle things."

"That is who you think Matvey is?" But then Anatoly actually thought about it. Pretty face and sad eyes, of course most of the world would look at Matthew not see past the surface. Anatoly had seen his other side; that man was the Devil himself.

"Just be ready to answer his questions," the woman spat. Her body was tense and guarded, she didn't trust Anatoly even in the damaged state he was. Usually it was the tattoos that his partners grew uneasy at, but it was probably the fact that half his face was swollen shut that really did it this time.

He reached up again and tried to asses how bad the damage truly was. A very small part of him was amazed that Matthew had kissed him looking like this, it must be a kink for both of them then. God, it had been a long time since someone had managed to make him feel this way.

"I—" the woman stopped herself, but her eyes were on the his hand.

"What?" This time he said it in English.

"I've been putting ice on your face all day and the swelling has barely gone down. You're not going to be able to see for awhile."

" _Shit_."

She chuckled, "Yeah I can tell that's a curse. If you want, and I don't suggest this lightly, but I can cut right above your eyebrow and drain the blood. It'll reduce the swelling, but it'll scar."

"Scars are fine, prefer that to not seeing." Anatoly set the glass down. "Do what you must."

"Wow, you and Matt are both just gluttons for pain," she sighed and went back into the kitchen. Her words made Anatoly feel warmer than they should. He hoped Matthew let him repay the favor for last night. One day. "Ok," the woman came back in with a steak knife, "hold _very_ still."

"Or I lose eye, I understand." Anatoly went motionless, even while his instincts screamed as she drew the knife to his face.

"This will hurt, try not to flinch."

Anatoly had a long history with pain. A very sharpened knife carefully slicing along his brow wasn't even the most painful thing he'd done for fun. As the burn started to subside he felt a trickle down the side of his face like cold water.

"That's a lot of blood..." The girl said it in a detached way, like she saw this on a daily basis. Anatoly blinked rapidly as feeling come back to the swollen side of his face. After another second his vision started to clear.

"Ah, I can see now—"

"Claire!"

Both adults jerked—the knife flying _too_ close to Anatoly's eye—and he saw a shadow detach itself from the window and sprint over to the woman.

"Don't do this! Put the knife down!"

"Matt, I'm not trying to hurt him."

" _Da_ , she is helping me see better, Matvey." He would be lying if seeing Matthew worried for his safety, regardless of why, made Anatoly's stomach flutter a bit.

"I—" Matthew struggled for words. The woman— _Claire?_ —gestured with the knife to Anatoly's face. He blinked both eyes to prove her point. "Ok, so I guess I just had bad timing was all?"

"You can say that again," Claire rolled her eyes. "Plus side, your boy now has both eyes again."

"I am not his boy." Anatoly felt the need to point that out.

A very different side of him shuddered in delight at being Matthew's. He was dressed in his Man in Mask clothes, eyes completely concealed, and looked as if he could strangle Anatoly with ease. That definitely made the Russian's blood pound just imagining it.

"There's a problem with Vladimir." Matthew's words were like a cold bucket of water. Anatoly's mind went to a worse case scenario.

"Fisk— _my brother?_ " It was pathetic, he couldn't even finish the sentence. If Fisk had killed his brother, there would be no safe harbor, no walls, no force in the world that could stop Anatoly's vengeance.

"He's not dead," Matthew cut off his train of thoughts. "Not yet any way, but he's playing your brother."

Claire stepped closer. "How so?"

"Word on the street is that I killed Anatoly, burned you alive and everything."

"Ha!" Anatoly spat. "My brother would _not_ believe false tales." His chest clenched from the effort and contracted in pain. It must have shown on his face because both Matthew and Claire moved forward, hands reaching out. Anatoly waved them away, pressing his good hand to his chest until he could feel his father's ring. "He would have searched for something only I carry."

"Is that _'something'_ a thing that could survive a blazing fire?" Claire asked.

"It—"

"That ring under your shirt is gold." Matthew's voice was hard. Anatoly was about to ask how he knew, but images of his shirt pushed up last night to expose his chest as they kissed answered it for him. "It would have melted...in this hypothetical scenario."

"Did—" Anatoly's mind raced. Would his brother fall for Fisk's lies? "Did I have phone on me?"

Claire looked to Matthew. "I didn't find anything."

"Shit," Matthew cursed, "that's how. I heard Wesley take your phone. They must have shown it to Vladimir as proof."

 _That_ would do it. When Vladimir got upset he stopped thinking and simply reacted. "He will kill you then, Matvey."

"Not if I find him first," Matthew held out a phone to Anatoly. "Found this on a crooked cop who killed one of your men today for saying Fisk's name."

" _Bastard!_ " Fisk was gutting their entire operation, picking off his men one at a time. They were going to lose _everything_.

Anatoly took the phone, letting his fingers brush against Matthew's. He had sworn to himself this would never happen again, promised on his parent's graves, once they had escaped that prison he and Vladimir would not stop climbing until they had reached the top. He would be lucky if they could escape with their lives this time.

Matthew frowned. "I can't read it, but I'm sure it'll make more sense to you."

"It's..." Anatoly's question about why Matthew couldn't read English died on his lips as he saw the addresses. " _Oh god_ —it, they are all our warehouses! He is setting up my brother."

"It's an ambush," Claire agreed.

"My brother focus his attention on you, not see Fisk coming." Anatoly's hands shook and he dropped the phone. His breathing become more labored and a sour taste rose in his mouth. He made his decision. "I will tell you _nothing_ until you bring my brother to me."

"I—" Both Matthew and Claire snapped to attention. The woman's eyes narrowed and Matthew's lips became a thin, hard line. Fuck what they thought about him, his brother was in danger. " _That wasn't our deal_ ," Matthew growled.

"We had _no_ deal." Anatoly reminded him, hands clenching in the sheets even as his broken hand screamed. "Now we do."

"You bastard—" Claire started, but Matthew held up a hand.

"Even if I find him in time, the moment Vladimir sees me he's going to try and kill me. You said it yourself."

Anatoly fumbled with his shirt, yanking his necklace free and tugging it off. He held out the ring to Matthew. "This. With this my brother will know I sent you. It is a sign only he, I and one other know."

"And?"

"And he will believe what you say, no questions." Anatoly shook the ring, prompting Matthew to extend his hand. "You _must_ do this. My brother means everything to me."

"Bullshit, he doesn't have to do anything." Claire touched Matthew's shoulder and Anatoly felt a spike of jealousy. "Matt, don't. This is suicide! What are you even going to do?"

Matthew drew away from her touch, tightening his grip around Anatoly's ring. It took him a moment to speak, but when he did it was the Man in the Mask who spoke. " _Whatever it takes_."

"You—you know how that sounds, right?" she spun around to Anatoly. "You're sending him to his death, you know that?"

His heart ached at the realization, but he didn't let it show. Volodya was the most important thing to him.

"It is _only_ way I will talk."

"Oh you're such a piece of shit," Claire's hands twisted in the air, like she wanted to choke him. "Matt, I don't want to believe this is you; making deals with crime lords. I thought you were better than this."

Anatoly could tell her words stung Matthew. His reaction was subtle, but the flinch at her voice was there. No wonder he wore the mask. Not just to hide his face, but also his emotions.

"I have to be this man the city needs, Claire."

"That's not a reason, that's an excuse."

" _What do you want me to do, Claire!?_ " Matthew snapped, his voice cracking with anger and pain." Let them tear Hell's Kitchen apart? Let them _win?_ "

"No, I—what you do is important." Claire moved back, away from Matt. Anatoly could see the fear in her eyes. "Just...you're so damn close to becoming what you hate."

The tension in the room became thick, nearly suffocating. Several intense emotions clashed within them all. Claire turned around, clapping a hand over her mouth as her words caught up to her. She started to tremble and Anatoly knew she was about to collapse.

"I—I need to step outside," she managed.

Matthew seemed stuck, as if caught in a trance. Her words must have cut deep.

"Not safe." Anatoly spoke for the masked man. It sounded like something his Matthew would say. That's what nice people said, right?

Claire strode over to the door anyways. "I'll stay within the building, I just—I _can't_ be here right now." The door was slammed with more force than necessary.

 _Women_. Anatoly rolled his eyes. They could be so emotionally unstable and extremely unpredictable. Just like his brother. Something he constantly teased Vladimir about.

Matthew finally stirred. "You're right," he almost sobbed. "I am too close."

Anatoly was not prepared for the onslaught of emotions that slammed into him at hearing Matthew's voice sound that...distraught. His heart physically hurt. Fuck, he was a lost cause.

Matthew ripped the mask off his face and _dammit_ that made everything so much worse. His eyes were brown, Anatoly could now see, and they were wounded like a damn puppy that had just been kicked. Not even his little brother had ever been able to pull off a face like that. Anatoly didn't realize he was trying to get out of bed until his arms crumpled underneath him and he slipped.

" _Fuck!_ " he cursed. The floor rushed up to greet him, but strong hands stopped his fall.

"Don't...try to move right now." Matthew said, voice hollow. Anatoly clung to him with his good hand and forced his legs to move.

"I do what I want, Matvey," he panted, almost draping himself across Matthew as he stood. To be fair, Matthew clung just a tight to him and let Anatoly use him as a support.

"She's right," Matthew repeated. His voice dropped so low and soft Anatoly barely heard him, even pressed against his neck. This damn boy had no right to sound so horribly broken and lonely.

" _Da_ , she's right Matvey." Anatoly admitted. No use lying. "I have seen you fight and your methods. You are _Devil_." The body underneath his shook, a soft sob escaping Matt. Anatoly willed his voice to remain steady. " _Ubiytsa_ ; my men call you that."

"Assassin."

"Is funny," Anatoly chuckled. "If I think, none of my men ever die in your attacks." He felt Matthew's breath hitch. "Men like Fisk—men like my brother and I, there is no clean way to get rid of us. But you are dangerous, Matvey. You are like bloodthirsty wolf—and that is _good_."

Matthew pushed his back slightly. "How is that good?"

"I am both crime lord and older brother, they are very different jobs. You can be both Devil and Matvey. That woman—Claire, she speaks truth, but that is not bad." Anatoly desperately wished he could speak English better, or that Matthew knew Russian. It was so hard to translate what he wanted, no _needed_ , to say. "There is line in all people, between who they _want_ to be and their Devil. So long as you know there is line Matvey, even if you cross it, you can always come back. I—" a frustrated snarl escaped, "—make sense?"

The both stood in silence for a few moments. Anatoly could feel Matthew's rapid heartbeat under his chest. He still refused to look up at the Russian, but that was fine. The Russian had never met anyone quite like Matthew before, trying to be a hero drenched in darkness—using his own ugly emotions as fuel. They were enemies, but Matthew had saved his life. No one besides his brother would have ever done that. Anatoly had long ago stopped believing there were good people left in the world; just people out for themselves. Matthew...made him hope again.

The silence stretched too long and Anatoly grew worried.

"Matvey? Are you—"

A blur of movement caught Anatoly off guard; the next thing he realized his back was pressed against the wall and a mouth covered his. Matthew's tongue pried open his lips and consumed his gasp of surprise. His body flushed and the room quickly became too hot. Anatoly groaned as he felt Matthew bite his lips and give a soft growl.

It was over in a heartbeat and Anatoly was left speechless as Matthew twisted away and headed for the balcony.

"W-wait..." Anatoly reached out. That was weak, he couldn't sound so vulnerable. Matthew still paused and tilted his head to show he was listening. "What are we doing? You...what do you want, Matvey?"

Matthew chuckled. "I'm not sure. You?"

"I—" Well, Anatoly hadn't really expected this to get turned around on him. He was a Ranskahov for God's sake, he knew what he wanted. He needed to be a fucking man and just say it. "I want...you to come back."

Matthew tugged his mask back on and strode over to the window. He didn't look back, but Anatoly would have liked to think he was smiling as he uttered, "No promises."

The Russian blinked and the man before him vanished into darkness. It was only after a few minutes he realized he was clutching his chest where his necklace normally was. The room was jarringly calm, the silence disconcerting after everything that had just happened. Stillness like this only came right before a storm.

Everything paled and became less vibrant. Anatoly's stomach churned and his chest ached: something terrible was about to happen.

He stood like that for an unknown amount of time, sick with dizziness and the certainty that death was coming. Claire must have come back at some point, but as she was trying to usher him back to bed they heard explosions and saw the fires.

Matthew's sprawling windows shook with each blast, dust falling to the floor as fires lit up the night sky. Anatoly watched with haunted eyes as he and his brother's entire empire collapsed into ash and smoke. He didn't even realize Claire had left; just stood, feeling impossibly small against all the chaos and devastation he witnessed.

The light against the glass shifted and Anatoly caught a glimpse of his reflection. He was crying— _had_ been crying, and he knew. _He knew_. Deep in his heart he understood; he would never see Vladimir again.

He let out a wretched sob.

God, he _had_ sent Matvey to his death.

.

.

* * *

.


	3. Chapter 3

Vladimir was a little shit.

That's all that kept running through Matt head as he dragged the Russian across a literal battlefield.

It had been a miracle that he had managed to find the other man in all the chaos and wreckage. His plan at breaking in had been foiled as the building surrounding Matthew had _exploded_. He'd barely succeeded in protecting himself from the blast and even still his muscles stung with the force from hitting the ground.

Moving in stealth with a body draped across his shoulders was extremely difficult. The man kept mumbling to himself (just like his brother) and fidgeted twice as much. It had been a near thing; Matt had felt the fire and heard the splintering of wood as the old warehouse had collapsed around him and had feared it was too late. If Vladimir died, Matt would never get his answers about Fisk.

He had almost lost control when he first found Vladimir. His anger at what had been done to Claire got the better of Matt and all he could feel was the scream for blood. The Devil unleashed itself upon the Russian and had almost gotten them both killed. Matthew hadn't heard the police until it was nearly too late.

His emotions were firmly under control now.

Matt grunted as he dropped Vladimir onto the floor. The man underneath him was both burned and had been shot in the side; this was such a fucking disaster. While he had been carrying Vladimir away, Matt heard as the cops shot the remaining Russian, even though the man had been defenseless.

This was all Fisk's doing.

He and Vladimir didn't have a lot of time. Matt sensed the structure around them: old and unused from the scent of dust. No one had been inside for years. Water was dripping from the ceiling and a few items lay scattered around, but nothing that was important. In the distance Matthew could hear the sirens and footsteps of people as they were hunted.

A wheeze caught Matt's attention as Vladimir came to. There was a scrape of leather against cement as the man rolled onto his back, groaning.

"Don't move," Matt ordered. "You've been shot." What followed was a slur of Russian that was completely undecipherable. Matthew assumed he was being cursed at. "That sounds pretty bad, but I don't speak asshole." He preferred Anatoly already.

" _I'm going to kill you for taking my brother from me_ ," was enunciated very slowly.

"You speak English better than your brother," Matt said. "He's not dead, I don't kill people. Not even scumbags like you who deserve it."

Vladimir spat a mixture of blood and saliva at him. "You dropped Semyon off roof. Put him in a coma! You expect me to believe you?"

"Yeah, but he was still breathing," Matthew growled. People were getting too worked up over this 'dropping-criminals-off-a-building' thing. The man _was_ still alive. That's more than he deserved.

"I found your mask!" Vladimir screamed. "You didn't even leave me a body to bury!"

Oh for fuck's sake.

Matt squatted down. "I _didn't_ kill your brother."

"Lies—!"

"Shut up and look!" Matthew reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring Anatoly had given him. He shoved it in Vladimir's face. "He's not dead, I fucking saved him. What, you think I blew your operation to shit too? Jesus, use your head and think. You're being played! By _Fisk_."

"Where—" Vladimir's hand was surprisingly fast, given his injured state, as he snatched the ring from Matthew's grasp. His unsteady heartbeat made it clear he had been caught off guard. " _Мои братья..._ " A creak from the bones in Vladimir's hands told Matt he had a white-knuckle grip on the ring. His voice turned seething. "You _took_ this from his body?"

"Wh—no!" Matthew desperately wished he could punch something. He clapped his hands together as if in prayer as his whole body shook. " _Anatoly. Is. Not. Dead._ He gave me the ring to me to fucking prove it!"

"So you are holding him hostage, is that it?"

"Lord give me strength," Matthew muttered. He was going to murder Anatoly when he got back to the apartment. 'No questions'—what utter _bullshit_. "Your brother is alive, Vladimir. He's with me. More than that you don't need to know."

"If you've hurt him—"

"—I didn't!" Matt snapped, his mental control cracking. "Fisk did; nearly beat him to death! If I hadn't stepped in your brother would be a bloody smear along the pavement. How would I know to give you the stupid ring if your brother hadn't told me?"

" _Заткнись!_ " Vladimir shouted.

Matthew concentrated and focused all his senses on what was in front of him. Through his interpretation of the world, hazy with impressions of fire and darkness in broad paint strokes, he watched Vladimir press the ring against his forehead. For an instant he could see, almost _feel_ , the grief the other man felt. It blurred the lines and Matt hated it.

Why couldn't things ever be simple?

"Just— _try_ , to believe me." Matthew tried one last time. "Your brother is alive and desperate to see you again."

Vladimir made a noise like a wounded dog and Matt could feel the vibrations in the air as his body shook with the effort _not_ to cry. "...what do you want?" he finally choked out. Matthew almost cried himself for finally getting through to the stubborn Russian.

"Fisk; on trial for everything he's done," he answered. Vladimir's laughter didn't surprise him, but as they bickered Matthew could taste and smell the scent of the other man's blood spreading across the floor. Time was running out.

"If I believe you..." Vladimir finally admitted, "and give you what you want—"

"You and your brother get to walk away." Matt bargained, even though it made him feel sick to think about letting criminals go free. Fisk was the main target, he had to keep his objective clear.

Anatoly had wanted him to come back too. That...had been unexpected.

"I've thought about your proposal," Vladimir began and Matt leaned closer. " _Suck my dick._ "

It was an extremely good thing Vladimir blacked out after that, otherwise Matthew really would have killed him—promises be _damned_. Instead, he stayed crouched next to the dying Russian, tremors running through his body in an effort to keep his rage in check. Matthew tried to exhale and calm down, but his pettiness got the better of him.

"Your brother beat you to it," he hissed.

* * *

Convincing Claire to help him was no easy task, but Matt could be charming when he tried. He also privately thought she enjoyed making criminals suffer as Vladimir's screams echoed in the warehouse, the smell of burning flesh clogging Matt's senses as he cauterized the wound.

The young cop that had stumbled in and blown their hiding spot was just karma coming to fuck with Matt's life again. The Devil inside had told him to kill the kid outright, but he couldn't—two months on the job? The rookie wasn't in anyone's pocket, he was _innocent_.

Innocent and dead.

Matt even knew it as he tied the kid up. If Fisk's men found him first they would shoot him like they had the Russian to cover their tracks. Weak, he was _weak!_ He should have done the deed himself.

Vladimir stirred. "You've been busy," he mumbled.

"The building's surrounded." Matt caught him up to speed on their crappy situation. He surveyed the area around them with his senses one last time as he broke down their opposition to Vladimir. He ripped off more of the duct tape to finish binding the kid.

He could feel Vladimir's stare. "How do you know this?"

"Lucky guess." Matthew rose and disassembled the cop's gun before throwing it away.

" _We could have used that_."

"I'm not big on guns." Matt shrugged as he walked back over to the Russian, picking up a metal pipe along the way.

"Great," Vladimir complained. "Little stick _so_ much better."

Matt had to assume this is what having a younger brother must be like: someone constantly whining and criticizing your every action. He suddenly had a lot more respect for Anatoly if this was what he dealt with on a daily basis.

A small, tiny voice in the back of Matt's head wished he had had younger siblings.

"What did you do to me?" Vladimir demanded, spitting out several curses in Russian. He struggled to sit up, his breaths short and pained.

"Road flare," Matt explained and turned around, "cauterized the wound."

"You _burned_ me?" Vladimir had the nerve to sound insulted. Matt felt his patience thinning already.

"Yeah I had to stop the bleeding," he quickly grew tired of Vladimir's struggling and dragged the man over to lean against some of the crates. Matthew might have taken a small amount pf pleasure this time from hearing the Russian's scream. "The bullet's still in there," he warned, "I wouldn't move around too much."

"You expect me to thank you?" Vladimir scoffed.

Matt took back what he had thought earlier; younger siblings were absolute monsters.

"If I didn't need you, _believe me_ , we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Why _do_ you need me?" A crunch of plastic sheets as Vladimir tried to shift in his new position. "You have my brother, yes? He does not break easy under torture, but you could get what you need from him. Unless he is dead already—"

Matt was so sick of this shit. " _Volodya_. That's you, right?"

The increased heartbeat and quick intake of breath answered for Matthew.

"That some kind of nickname? He kept calling you that. What's his?"

What followed was silence, but that was only because Vladimir was trying to figure out how to respond. Matt could hear as his fingers tightened around the ring again. He wore a similar ring under his shirt as well. What did it mean?

" _Tolik_ ," Vladimir growled. "Nicknames from long time ago. He—he's alive?"

Matt nodded. "Yes. You have matching rings too, a sign only you two and one more know."

"Sergei was only other who knew."

"What that the man you were with earlier?"

" _Да_ , did you kill him?"

"Oh for—no!" Matthew's control slipped and he punched through the crate next to Vladimir's head. He felt the other man flinch. "I told you I _don't_ kill people. I left him to be arrested by those cops, but they were Fisk's men and they shot him."

Surprisingly, Vladimir went silent. His heartbeat slowed down and he tried to even out his breathing.

"My brother, he refused to talk until you bring me to him?"

"I—yeah." Matt was caught slightly off guard that he finally guessed right. Vladimir choked out a pained laugh.

"That is what he would do... _глупый_."

Matt couldn't help but smile. "He said being an older brother is it's own job."

" _Да_ ," Vladimir's voice shook and Matt tasted salt in the air. The Russian was crying now. "He went to Fisk because I refuse. _'Too prideful, Volodya.'_ He not say it, but was in his eyes. Went to bow and beg for both of us—I—"

Matt finally understood. "You blame yourself."

"Always doing these things," Vladimir continued. "He follows whatever I am doing. Because of me we were thrown into prison. Different than soft American prisons—nearly killed Anatoly. _I_ wanted to go to America. _I_ chose this life for us. Anatoly never care much for violence or crime, but—"

"—he was watching out for you." Matthew finished.

"That how you say it?" Vladimir groaned. "I thought, when Sergei show me his broken phone with his blood—I thought, _'I have killed my own brother'_."

Lines were becoming blurry again. His father's death...it was _his_ fault, Matt pushed his dad to win that stupid fight. He knew how Vladimir felt; the pain had been so intense he couldn't even scream. Some nights, Matthew still wished he had died when that car had hit him.

"He's not dead," his voice shook as memories threatened to overtake him. "Anatoly is waiting for you."

"Always waiting for me," Vladimir slurred.

"Hey, _hey_." Matt reached out and grabbed Vladimir's jaw. " _Stay awake_."

"Hmm, strong grip," the Russian noted. "Fisk...his lap dog came to us first. He told us his employer had taken note."

"What—" Matthew hadn't been prepared for Vladimir to just start spilling everything. He assumed the man, like his brother, would demand they get out of their current situation before speaking.

"He complimented us—" Vladimir swallowed, "—on our business. He invited us to be...part of something _bigger_. To expand, _if_ we entered into an agreement."

"What did Fisk offer?" Matt pushed. He was _so_ close to finally getting answers.

"Police looking other way, aid from politicians, and access to Chinese and their heroin—"

"He working with the Chinese?" He couldn't help interrupting, but it made sense suddenly. Those Russians had been driving that Chinese man around last night. This was bigger than he had previously imagined.

"You really don't know anything, do you?" Vladimir snorted. "Just snapping scraps falling from table."

Matt ignored the insult. "I want _names_."

"There's only one name that matters; the man that can tie everything together."

"Who?"

Vladimir tried to lean forward. Part of Matthew wanted to tell him he didn't have to, the other told him to stay quiet. "Have you heard of name, Leslie Shumway?"

Matt's mind raced as he tried to connect the name. "No, he work for Fisk?"

"Ha!" Vladimir coughed and spit of more of his blood. "American schools; almost as bad as Russian."

" _Come on_."

"Leslie Shumway was an accountant to your Al Capone."

The dots connected. "You know who Fisk's money man is." This could change _everything_.

"Not just Fisk," Vladimir revealed, "he handled it for all of us."

That was it. This was all Matthew needed and more. He could take down Fisk in one fell swoop.

"Who is he? _Where_ do I find him?"

Vladimir's heart kept slowing down, like sand from an hourglass. He breathing became more labored.

"We...we were going to rule this city, my brother and I..."

 _No_. Matt reached out, "Vladimir, the name! I need his name!"

"His name... _his_ name—"

Matt leaned even closer, until his ear was right next to Vladimir's mouth. So _close_...

The head butt came out of nowhere. Matthew's head snapped back from the force and he cried out. Vladimir threw himself forward and next thing Matthew realized a wooden plank cracked down along his back. He reeled back and Vladimir swung again, striking Matt across the chin and tossing him back across the floor. Two hard blows to the head; his senses shorted out and he couldn't feel anything around him.

"This is not how I die," Vladimir gasped, wooden plank scraping across the floor as he dragged it behind him. Matt turned on his side to try and get up. "This...is _not_ how it happens!"

The Russian raised his weapon and Matt sprung into action, catching Vladimir by his wrists and blocking the attack. They struggled and Vladimir ripped his hands free from Matt's grasp. He tried to swing again, but Matt dodged and smacked the board out of his hands. He spun and punched Vladimir twice before bending down and lifting the man up by his waist. Matthew meant to throw Vladimir against the floor and stun the Russian, but instead he accidentally collapsed the entire floor.

Matt had perhaps half a second to panic before his world went dark.

* * *

Vladimir was a little shit.

Bad enough that Matt had to wake up with new cracked ribs, a sore jaw, and a massive migraine after falling several meters to a stone floor, but then to find out Vladimir had _died_ on him was just icing on the fucking cake.

Murder was too good for Anatoly, Matt decided as he pounded on Vladimir's chest. When he got back to the older Russian he was going to flip the man over and make him explain himself as Matthew brutally fucked him against the couch— _with_ Vladimir watching, just because he could. Oh yeah, that thought felt good.

Matt slammed his fist down in righteous anger. "I'm not done with you yet!"

Vladimir's shout as he came back, and his wretched gasps, soothed the dark part of Matt's soul.

"You died, I brought you back," he summed up like it was the evening weather report. Standing hurt, _everything_ hurt, but Matt forced his legs to work.

"You lied," Vladimir accused. "You can't even stand there and let me die."

"I made a promise to your brother," Matt said. It shut the Russian up and let him concentrate on finding a way out. The stale air moved around them, twisting downwards through a vent. Matthew scrambled over broken pieces of wood as he clawed at the vent underneath them. It was too heavy for one man. Matt's broken ribs screamed as he struggled to lift the metal grate. He tried until his shoulders nearly popped out and a cry ripped itself from his throat.

They were trapped.

Fisk's call didn't improve the situation.

His offer to kill Vladimir was tempting after everything he had put Matt through, but the promise to Anatoly was more important. It was useful in learning that Fisk assumed Anatoly had died and in that way, he was safe. Fisk's taunts and blatant display of power as he killed people around Matthew—all so he could pin it on the Man in the Mask—made Matt's blood boil.

He screamed as he threw the radio at the wall. It shattered everywhere and the Devil reared inside of Matt. He _needed_ to kill Fisk—drown the world in his blood—he needed to slit his throat as—

The sound of his phone ringing dragged Matthew out of his terrible thoughts. Claire's terrified voice made him focus.

"On the news they're saying that you shot those cops!" His rage welled up again, but Matt shoved it away. He could feel Vladimir's stare.

"No, it was Fisk," he assured Claire. "It was all Fisk."

He heard her sigh of relief. "What's going on out there?"

"I—" A noise caught Matt's attention. "Hang on." He sharpened his hearing and cursed as he realized they were almost of out time. The police were coming and Matt was trapped in a tiny room with a dying Russian and vent that he couldn't lift.

There was no way out.

Vladimir's heart rate picked up as he heard it too and realized the same thing.

"Claire—" Matt wasn't ready. He figured this was how he would eventually die, but not tonight. Not when he was so close. He was never going to hear Foggy or Karen's voice again. When it was revealed who he was, it would break both their hearts. What would they think about him?

"Um, wh-what you said earlier." Shit, his voice was shaking. "Before I left—"

Her voice shook. "I was—I'm sorry, I just—"

"No, don't be," Matt cut her off. "It turns out you were—you were _right_ about me." His whole body was trembling and Matt just wished he would _stop_ , but he was so scared. The words were pouring out of him. "I just don't want you getting caught up if it goes that way."

"Matt—"

"C-could you give a message to Anatoly for me?" he asked. He heard her sniff and give a choked _'yes'_. "Just...tell him I'm sorry. I couldn't bring his brother back. Fisk thinks he's dead so he should lie low for as long as he can. Th-the apartment's paid until the end of the year."

"Jesus, Matt you don't have to—"

" _Promise me_ , Claire."

"I—of course."

"And tell him...sorry, about the other thing. He'll know what you mean."

" _Oh God_." Claire's voice cracked and she must have covered her hand over her mouth to smother her sobs. She really was a kind person. Matthew was glad they met.

"If we don't get a chance to talk again," he forced a smile that no one could see, "you take care of yourself." He clicked the phone shut right as the door to the warehouse was broken into. Out of time.

Matt reached for the metal grate, because he couldn't simply stand and wait.

"You would...do that for my brother?" Vladimir's voice made him pause.

"Wh-what?" God, they did _not_ have time to argue more.

A grunt sounded as Vladimir tried to sit up again. "Even...even though you are about to die, you think of him?"

Matthew waved to the room around them. "Well I couldn't save you, it's the least I can do."

"No...least you could do was let him die, but you didn't." The slow scrape of cloth against wood as the Russian dragged himself up and staggered over to Matt. "Now, as death comes, you think of him?"

"You're reading too much into it," Matt deflected.

"Am I?" Vladimir dropped to his knees, biting back a moan. "What was other thing?"

"What thing?"

"Between you and my brother." Now Vladimir sounded frustrated and Matt relished in it. "The other thing you are sorry for?"

Matt gave a shit-eating grin as the police drew closer to them. "That's between Anatoly and I."

He expected to get hit, or for Vladimir to throw another tantrum. What Matthew didn't anticipate was for the Russian to grab onto the grate with him and start to lift. Matt's shock must have shown on his face because he heard Vladimir give a small laugh.

"Then I shall ask him myself," he said. "I told you; this is not how I die."

They were both injured, and it took all of their strength, but when they finally moved the vent Matt felt relief wash over him. A second chance had been given to him.

Vladimir basically fell down the ladder while Matthew carefully climbed after him. He listened as the young cop was murdered—Fisk was a monster, killing an innocent boy—and shouldered the weight of another person he'd failed. Vladimir clung to the ladder in an attempt to stay upright, gasping for breath and Matt reached for him.

He could save this one life. He could keep at least one promise.

"This way." Matthew dragged Vladimir towards their freedom, even as the man buckled and tried to drop to the floor. Mutt pushed him up against the wall.

"Where are we?" Vladimir sounded delirious. Matt sensed the area around them.

"Access tunnels," he answered distractedly. "The city was built on a network of these, most of them sealed up years ago." The officers were getting closer. "All right, we have to keep moving, find a way to the street." Matthew hauled Vladimir up, taking most of his weight and covering his cries with his free hand. He would get them out of here, whatever it took.

That thought lasted all of ten seconds before they ran into a door. Matthew struggled to open it, tried to ignore how Vladimir's breathing was getting worse—the blood that kept dripping from his mouth.

Footsteps were Matt's only warning as the police came through the tunnel, he barely had time to throw Vladimir out of the way before a hail of bullets came at them. Matthew spun out of their trajectory, let his pipe go and flung it at the shooter's face. Both men kept firing. Matt had to keep dancing along the walls and flying through the air to dodge everything. Their armor made his blows less effective.

It became more difficult spinning around his attackers, but also making sure their shots didn't go towards Vladimir either. Eventually Matt subdued them, but too late he realized a new problem.

Vladimir pointed one of the rifles at him.

They both were silent. Part of Matthew wished he could just cry at all the bullshit he had dealt with today. Another part of him burned with fury. After everything Vladimir _still_ wanted him dead?

Matthew jabbed his finger outwards. "There are five more coming. All working for Fisk, probably not even real cops. We _don't_ have time for this." His voice was desperate, Matt knew, and he didn't care. He was so sick of the rug being pulled from under him every time he though he was getting somewhere.

"I think...maybe I stay."

Like listening to static, all of Matt's senses shorted out. He stood, stunned for a moment, and his jaw dropped. _What?_

"We can still make it out of here." Matthew turned to the door, where escape was waiting for them. "I made a promise to your brother."

"My brother needs to start living his own life." Vladimir coughed more blood out. "Always waiting for me, always doing what I want—I-I don't even know what he wants. I never ask."

"Listen!" Matt tried to snap him out of it. "You two turn evidence on Fisk, we can—"

"He controls all police—judges," Vladimir's voice hardened. "There's only one way to stop him, you know this." Anatoly's words echoed with his brother's and Matt shook his head vehemently.

" _No_. I'm not a killer."

Vladimir snarled at him. "The moment you put on the mask, you got into cage with animals. Animals don't stop fighting; not until one of them is _dead_." Matthew clenched his fists, still in denial.

He would find another way.

"What Fisk did to me, he'll do to you! And he will do it to everyone you care about.  
Will you feel the same way then?" the Russian asked. "Or will you be man and do what you know you must do?"

"...Vladimir—" Matthew tried but was cut off.

"Leland Owlsley. That is the name you want. That is the information you wanted from my brother, now you don't have to keep promise." Vladimir fumbled with his clothes, Velcro ripped as he pulled off his vest and a slight clink as he withdrew a chain with his own ring on it. "Here. Take both."

" _No_."

"Take them!" Vladimir demanded and threw them at Matt. It was a shitty throw and both rings went wide but Matthew's reflexes caught them with ease. His chest ached at the realization of what was happening. "You...saved my brother," was finally admitted. "I owe you large debt. I repay it now."

"Please, don't do this."

"Ha! One minute you want to kill me, next you sound like broken child. No wonder my brother likes you."

"I never said—"

"I figure it out." A distortion in the air as Vladimir waved his hand. "Also comment about sucking dick; I heard. _Typical_. Tolik always attracted to certain types. Now _go_. Tell my brother I will be in Hell—while he keep company with the Devil."

Matthew stood for another moment longer, frantic.

"Go!" Vladimir roared and Matt used his rage at his helplessness to kick the door down and flee. The rings in his hands felt like lead weights. Vladimir's voice floated through the air, chasing Matthew, as he sang in foreign words. Almost like a lullaby one would hum to comfort a small child. The notes were bleak and eventually drowned out by gunfire. A desolate sob escaped Matt as his lungs burned with shame.

The night air stung and the wind chilled his skin as Matt broke to the surface streets. He kept sprinting, trying to outrun the horrors behind him.

.

.

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4

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.

* * *

Anatoly had given up hope that he would ever see his brother or Matthew again.

 _Hours_ passed. The sun was beginning to rise and the fires had long been put out. The Russian sat, crumpled against the side of the couch where he had collapsed. The position had given him a perfect view of the smoke and flames against the starry night—well, the stars had eventually been consumed in the smoke and Anatoly found it fitting as he blankly watched.

Now that the sun finally rose he felt completely hollowed out, like someone had carved into his chest and ripped out his heart. That could just be his broken ribs complaining, though.

He didn't even think he could get up without assistance.

Anatoly tried to roll onto his side, but the pain was so intense that he just slid back down. Everything was a blur of pain; his heart, his body. It had all gone wrong so quickly. Just last week he and his brother had been some of the most powerful gangsters in New York—kings in their own right and now...a broken mess on his enemy's floor. His brother likely dead and Matthew—Matvey, _his_ Matvey.

It wasn't a whimper he gave, lying on the ground legs splayed awkwardly underneath him, but it was a near thing.

 _Fuck_ , he was stronger than this. Anatoly grunted as he struggled to rise again. Pain was an old friend he could overcome. Shaking, he pushed himself up with his one good hand and latched onto the arm of the couch to drag himself up the rest of the way.

" _Volodya._ " It was a promise now; of vengeance.

The sunlight spilled in from the windows behind Anatoly. He glanced towards the light and cursed under his breath. He'd burn Fisk's empire to the ground.

His grip slipped on the slick leather, but Anatoly clung on, even as he felt like succumbing to grief. He'd never been alone before— _God_ , he didn't think he'd make it through the day in this sorry state.

He should have _never_ sent Matthew on that suicide run. The Man in the Mask was a powerful symbol that he had snuffed without a second thought; blinded by worry for a brother that had probably been dead. Anatoly's broken hand came up to his chest, where his father's ring should be.

All of his family had been lost this night.

A loud crash against the door derailed his thoughts. Anatoly jerked— _they had found Matvey's apartment_. A weapon, he _needed_ some type of weapon. His eyes darted across the room. On the counter! Claire's knife she had used to cut his eye. Anatoly lurched and tried to fall towards the counter so he could grab the ledge. He just barely made it before the door swung inwards and Matthew collapsed onto the floor.

" _Matvey!_ "

He looked like shit. His black suit coated in a thick layer of ash and dust, a large bruise spread across his jaw, and blood trickled from his mouth.

Vladimir was _not_ with him.

Of course he wasn't, Anatoly had _known_ this. There was no way Matthew could have made it to his brother in time...right? The Russian blinked back his tears as he pulled himself over to the other man and dropped to his knees.

"Matvey." He wanted to reach out, but Matthew groaned and his legs curled around the door, kicking it shut with a bang. "Mat—"

" _I'm sorry_." He was crying under the mask, Anatoly realized. "I couldn't—I wasn't strong enough."

"It..." It wasn't fine, but it wasn't Matthew's fault. Anatoly clicked his teeth shut. He didn't know what to say.

"We were close, Anatoly. _So close_ , but your brother—too badly injured. We argued, b-but he wanted to stay; said he had a debt to repay." Matthew's hand extended up, two gold rings resting in his palm. Anatoly's heart stopped. "He said: 'you need to start living your own life'. And..." Matthew took a pained breath, "that he will be in Hell, while you keep company with...t-the Devil."

" _Volodya_..." He couldn't even pretend to keep it together. Anatoly's whole body shook as he covered Matthew's hand with his own. The metal of the rings was heated from Matthew's touch. It was too much. He had prepared for this, but _hearing_ it?

Vladimir wasn't the type to sacrifice himself, except for family...which meant he had wanted Matthew to escape for Anatoly.

Sobs echoed around the room as Matthew's hand trembled.

.

* * *

.

This was _his_ fault, Matt thought as Anatoly wept from above. If he had been faster, if he hadn't let his anger overwhelm him when he first found Vladimir—if he had killed that young cop— _something_. There were a dozens ways he could have handled the situation differently. They both could have made it out of that nightmare.

Would Vladimir have even survived walking to Matt's place? _Didn't matter_.

"Ana—"

" _No_ ," the other man sobbed. "No more, Matvey."

"But I—"

"My brother is dead. He did so to give you time. Nothing more to know."

Matt's outstretched fist was pulled closer until it was flush against the Russian's chest. It might have felt nice if Matthew wasn't so consumed with guilt. It was eating him from the inside, tearing at his chest.

He let everyone down. Claire; disappointed that he wasn't the man she thought—too close to being a monster. Foggy and Karen; innocent and constantly being lied to and after tonight, he could never reveal himself as the Man in the Mask. Not after what Fisk had done. He even let _criminals_ down; couldn't save Vladimir and now Anatoly had nothing.

"Wh-what do the rings mean?" Matt had to ask. Anatoly's fingers intertwined with his to pull out the rings.

"Our parents." A tiny clink as the pieces of gold were rubbed together. "Died in car crash when Volodya six, he does not remember their faces."

"Oh."

"I wore our father's, Volodya wore our mother's. It was only things we brought with us from Russia."

"Why wear them?" Matt couldn't help it, now that Anatoly held the rings he turned his fingers to feel the other man's face. The Russian let him; his jaw and cheeks were damp with tears. _Fuck_.

"Um...how— _Для того, чтобы держать их в наших сердцах_." Matt felt the jawline move and form the Russian words, but it did not help him understand. Anatoly clenched his teeth in frustration. "Heart," he pressed his hand with the rings against Matthew's ribcage, right above the heart, "so rings are close to heart."

"I understand," Matt nodded. His mask was damp from crying; he needed to take it off. He slowly started to sit up, withdrawing his hand from Anatoly's face. His ribs cracked dangerously and Matthew groaned, wincing as the night caught up with him.

"Y-you are hurt, Matvey."

"It's fine," Matt grunted through strained lips. He just needed to be creative in how he moved.

"Fisk's men did this?"

"No, your brother." He felt the Russian twitch next to him.

"But you had ring."

"H-he didn't believe me." Matt carefully twisted his body so he could sit up on his knees. "He assumed I had kidnapped and tortured you. He was a handful; we got into a fight and collapsed a floor. It's fine."

"...a floor?"

"Thought you didn't want to know more?" Matthew wasn't trying to be mean, he just didn't want Anatoly to suffer more.

" _Net_." Anatoly let out a shaky breath. "Volodya, always too stubborn."

Matt ripped off his mask, even though he knew it would mean Anatoly could see that he had been crying and what a fucking mess he was. He flung the article away from himself. Now it was only a symbol for terror and broken promises.

 _God forgive him_ ; he was no one's savior.

"You believe in God?" Matt startled (did he said that out loud?) and turned his head towards Anatoly. His heartbeat was normal; it was a genuine question.

"The sisters raised me after my father died...so yes, I do believe." He exhaled a small laugh. "I know what you're thinking; I'm well aware I'm going to Hell—"

"Could you pray for my brother's soul?"

"Uh—what?" That was the last thing Matt would have ever expected to hear out of a Russian crime lord's mouth.

He heard Anatoly steady out his breathing as he tried to collect himself. The air was thick with salt, both from sweat and tears. "My brother and I were not good men; but he suffered enough in life. I would—I just—he should _not_ suffer in death too. You teach me prayer to save him?"

"I..." Matt could feel his eyes burn, and teardrops roll down his cheeks. His body went numb and heavy. The lines had blurred so completely that everything was gray right now. He was no hero; just a blind man who had failed. Anatoly was no crime lord, only a man begging for his brother's soul to be saved. They were both just two men sitting on the floor, broken in mind and body.

No lines, no good or evil. Just too much pain.

"Yeah, I'll teach you the prayer."

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* * *

.

The words were clumsy on his lips, but they helped the pain in Anatoly's chest as he said them. It was kind of Matvey to teach him the holy words. He blinked, remembering that the Devil was just a fallen angel and maybe it wasn't so strange that Matthew was a holy man.

Their mother had been devout, Anatoly remembered. She had worn a cross necklace and prayed every night. He hoped...these words helped and Vladimir would be at peace with their parents.

"Anatoly." Matthew's voice cut in, a strong hand wrapped around his shoulder. "You should lay down."

"We finish the prayer?" He had to make sure.

Matvey's lips quirked upwards, but it didn't reach his eyes. Nothing reached his eyes. "Yeah, if God's listening, he'll understand." Anatoly wished Matthew would look at him just _once_.

"[Thank you.]" He realized he had said it in Russian, but Matthew nodded like he understood anyways. Anatoly could tell, the way Matthew's nostrils flared and how his jaw tightened as he stood, that the man was in more pain than he let on. It didn't stop him from extending his hand to Anatoly. "No help need—"

"You're lying." Matthew sighed grabbed Anatoly's upper arms and nearly picked him up. It was a strain on the man in black, but the Russian was still greatly impressed with his strength—and a little turned on.

It was a flicker of lust, the grief crushed it a moment later.

It had felt nice; Anatoly wanted that feeling back. Anything to chase away the anguish of realizing he was alone.

"I'm getting you back to bed," Matthew was saying as he practically dragged Anatoly through the apartment. "I have to take shower and call Foggy—"

"Your phone yelled many times," Anatoly confirmed.

Matthew cursed as they got to the bedroom. He let Anatoly go and pushed him towards the bed, but the Russian clung on. Matvey's warmth felt nice, his voice kept everything at bay for the moment. His body would probably do more than that.

Anatoly had a debt to repay.

"You look like you're about to collapse," Matthew argued and pushed again.

Anatoly pulled closer until he was by Matthew's ear. He would _make_ this man look at him. "I have been in clothes for over two day, Matvey. We both need shower."

He could tell his words had an effect. Matthew's body went rigid, his breathing became uneven and his grip on Anatoly tightened. He went back and forth from his Man in Mask persona to Matvey with the sad eyes; both qualities made Anatoly's blood run south.

He wanted to devour Matvey and have Matthew pound him into this bed.

"S-stop." A hand came up to rest on Anatoly's lips and he hadn't even realized he was leaning inwards. His body began to shake. _Don't do this, Matvey_.

"[Please...]" Fuck, that was in Russian.

"I know what that word means now," Matthew gave a small smile. He slid him arms around Anatoly, across his chest and it took the Russian a moment to realize he was being hugged. His face grew hot and he felt tears well up again, but whether from relief or rejection, Anatoly couldn't tell.

"What are you trying to do?" Matthew asked finally.

Anatoly wasn't sure how to answer. He felt a scream start to build up in his chest at the frustration. Matthew still wasn't _looking_ at him.

"[I want—]" He was too emotional, he could barely tell what language he was speaking. "Help me stop feeling this..." Anatoly gestured to his chest that was pressed against Matthew, to his heart, to all of his pain. Matthew's eyes shifted downwards, they were so _beautiful_ , amber with flecks of hazel.

"I don't know if I'm the right person," the younger man confessed. The broken note in his voice only turned Anatoly on more and he forced himself to remain still. "I couldn't even keep my promise to you...it's my fault—"

Anatoly cut him off with a searing kiss, trying to bury the sting that came from Matthew's words. He claimed those lips again and again, tasting the dust and blood. Liquid pleasure trickled down Anatoly's spine and curled into his gut, he never wanted to stop. Matthew started to draw back and Anatoly became desperate. He reached out with the wrong hand and a jolt of raw agony ran through his broken wrist and the moment was shattered.

"Stop hurting yourself," Matvey's voice was gentle and Anatoly hated it.

"You _kept_ promise," he hissed and Matthew stilled. "You kept _one_ promise."

"No, I failed."

" _Listen._ " Anatoly snarled and twisted his good hand in the fabric of Matthew's shirt, yanking him closer again. "You came back—that is other thing I asked. You kept that promise."

Matthew's eyes started to water as he stared at the ground.

" _Look_ at me," Anatoly begged. He _needed_ Matthew to understand.

"I—" That seemed to pull Matthew out of whatever he was going through. His eyes snapped up to a point behind Anatoly. "Um, I can't."

"What?"

"I can't look at you," Matthew repeated. "I'm blind."

It was a lie, of course. No one could fight the way Matthew did without his sight. A _blind_ man couldn't traverse across Hell's Kitchen and pick his brother out of a sea of flames and bring back their parent's rings. A _blind_ man couldn't dispatch some of his best men night after night. He couldn't...

Matthew tilted his head. "Didn't you ever why I covered my eyes?"

Anatoly waved his hand in front of Matvey's face and watched as his pupil's stayed the same. That...explained a lot. And raised several questions. The Russian's head started to swim and he swayed; Matthew's grip tightened.

"I didn't realize you couldn't tell," Matthew frowned. "I'm sorry if it bothers you."

"N-no," Anatoly lied and Matthew's frown deepened. He was closing himself off, Anatoly realized and he panicked. "Is just...shock. You move like normal man." That sounded horrible.

Matthew snorted. "You said I move like...ub-ubee—"

" _Ubiytsa_ ," Anatoly corrected. "Killer or assassin." He didn't like the way Matthew's shoulders slumped, but it wasn't a lie either. "How do you...?"

"There are many ways to see," was the vague response. Anatoly rolled his eyes. "Like, your eye muscles stretch a certain when a person rolls them." _Well, shit_.

Matthew smiled, biting his lower lip. "I can't see, not like everyone else, but I can feel. Things like balance and direction. Micro-changes in air density, vibrations, blankets of temperature variations. Mix all that with what I hear, subtle smells—all of the fragments form a sort of...impressionistic painting."

"Hmmm." Anatoly didn't want to seem like an idiot, but he only understood about half of what Matthew just said. "So—you see, with other senses?" he tried.

"I get an impression of the area around me with my other senses, but it's not really seeing as you understand it."

Anatoly bit back a sarcastic remark; Matvey was trying to explain as best he could. Wasn't his fault Anatoly hadn't studied English are hard as Vladimir.

His eyes flashed up to Matthew's face. "That is why your fingers on my face last night? Several times, _da?_ " He got the pleasure of seeing Matvey's expression turn shy.

"Yeah, that's how I look at someone," it was breathless, like an admission. Anatoly's heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest and he dragged Matthew over to claim his lips. Fingers stopped him once again.

The Russian growled, " _Matvey, why?_ "

"You wanted me to look at you," Matthew answered and carefully gripped Anatoly's jaw. "If I concentrate hard enough and focus all my senses on one area I...can…" His brown eyes flickered to life, glancing down at his own fingers for a moment and then finally meeting Anatoly's blue ones.

Anatoly didn't realize he had stopped breathing. Those dark empty eyes that bore right through him; a man could get lost in them.

"C-can you see—?"

"I can't see your eyes," Matthew answered, "but I can tell by the outline of your face and guess where they are. Judging on your heart rate and breathing, I'm staring right into them. Wh-what color are they?"

"Blue."

"Pretty..."

Any other man Anatoly would have punched in the face for that remark; instead he tried to tug Matthew back in for a kiss.

This time he succeeded and their lips met in a messy clash. The younger man's tongue was everywhere, exploring every inch of Anatoly's and they both moaned. Matthew's hand clawed at Anatoly's back, scratching and leaving what were sure to be lovely marks in the morning. The hand trailed upwards and gripped his hair so tightly it made the Russian whine and thrust his hips forward. Teeth sunk into Anatoly's neck as Matthew claimed him, almost growling.

" _Matvey_..." It hurt in such a good way that Anatoly's knees shook. He wanted _more_. God, he needed to be used—needed to fuck or be fucked. Whatever this man was willing to do Anatoly was willing. He ground his hips against the thigh that had been shoved against his erection.

"Ok, I can't." Matthew pulled away abruptly and before Anatoly could complain he'd stripped off his shirt. "I _have_ to take a shower, I can still taste last night."

"But...together?" They had to keep going or Anatoly was going to lose it. He was already hard and straining in his jeans, he couldn't wait and listen knowing Matthew was naked in a shower and _not_ try to jerk himself off.

Matthew chuckled, "Yeah, together. Your hand going to be alright?" Claire had found an old wrist guard among Matvey's belongings and had wrapped Anatoly's hand in it.

"I will keep hand out of water," he promised and stepped towards Matthew eagerly. They both hastily tore off their clothes and stumbled into the bathroom. Anatoly did not keep quiet as Matthew's hands roamed all over his body, tracing tattoos and scars, dragging his nails down the Russian's back again as he moaned in pleasure.

The hot water was a shock, but did nothing to dampen the mood. The shower was all glass, easy to walk in and even easier to push Matthew up against the corner and bite at his lips until they were bleeding. Anatoly ate every sound that Matvey made, it fed his desire he felt dizzy with lust. Matthew's body was beautiful; pale and chiseled with a smattering of scars. Not as many as Anatoly, but that was a given. He realized that if Matthew was blind, he'd probably never seen himself—didn't know what he was worth.

 _Oh, Anatoly would fix that_.

He leaned in. "You know how you look? There is certain word for it."

"Wh-what's that?" Matthew panted.

" _Fuckable_."

.

* * *

.

Matt slammed his head against the glass wall harder than he should have, but the intense wave of passion that washed over him almost ended everything right then and there. Anatoly's body screamed what he had just whispered; he was completely turned on by just looking at Matthew. It made him feel too much and not enough all at once.

His hand slipped down and gripped the Russian's cock, fingers sliding until they met the head and he felt the metal of his piercings.

"You have to promise not to hold back," Matt begged and his thumb pressed down. Anatoly gave a soft moan, knees buckling. "I want to feel these stretch me open."

" _Вы будете моей смерти_." Anatoly's entire body was shaking, draped across Matt's. His erection had started to weep, hot in Matthew's hand. "You will scream," he promised and with some effort, pushed his body up.

That's when Matt heard it—against the clattering of the shower, the creak of bones and Anatoly's gasp caught in his throat. Matt's hands shots out and steadied the other man; his groan a mix of pleasure and pain.

"I heard that," Matthew told him. "You've barely recovered, you're pushing yourself too hard."

"Is nothing," Anatoly insisted. His ribs told Matt another story, one of a man barely able to stand upright and on the verge of collapsing. He felt the guilt crawl back up his throat. _He_ shouldn't have let things go this far. " _Don't you dare, Matvey_." Anatoly's voice turned dangerous. Matthew's ears could also pick out the desperation and he bit back his reply.

They both stood under the shower, hot water cascading down their bodies, but the unease lingering enough to bring down the mood. Matt's head started to clear.

"Can you even—" Anatoly's mouth covered his in angry kisses. Matthew twisted his body so the Russian's was now pressed against the glass wall. He was careful to make sure his broken hand was clear of the stream, but Anatoly's snarl let Matt know he was pushing the limit.

" _Дайте мне это_." He could tell how frustrated the other was, forgetting what language he was speaking. "— _need_ this, Matvey!" A hand was at Matt's throat suddenly and his body reacted on instinct. He slammed Anatoly's hand away, pinning it against the wall, and his elbow dug into the Russian's windpipe. Like a string had been cut, Matt snapped out of it and gasped.

He started to ease pressure, but Anatoly shook his head.

"Don't stop, _khotet'_." Matt recognized the word as 'please'. He realized after a moment that Anatoly had done that on purpose, he had wanted Matthew to react this way. Had _wanted_ to be suffocated. It was both a disturbing and erotic thought.

Anatoly wasn't going to stop, even though he was about to break apart. He was literally begging Matt to continue. The blind man realized he was shivering; not from cold or disgust, but from anticipation. His body wanted this—the Devil inside was calling to be unleashed.

" _Ubiytsa_ ," Anatoly struggled, "take what's yours."

"Oh _fuck_..." Matt bowed his head. He couldn't keep denying himself—too weak, his desire too much. He was only human. "You're keeping the promise you made," he deepened his voice, rough and sharp. Anatoly's heart rate skyrocketed and the air was thick with pheromones of sex. Matthew leaned forward and scraped his teeth along the shell of Anatoly's ear. "You're going to fuck me until I scream...once I finish playing with you."

" _Vot der'mo, Met'yu!_ " Matt grinned at hearing Anatoly scream his full name. He pressed his elbow down more fully until the Russian started choking—keeping careful tabs on his vitals—until he was on the brink of passing out before releasing.

He held Anatoly up against the wall as he coughed, recovering and groaning in satisfaction. Chapped lips dotted Matt's neck with kisses and a hand slid up to cup his cheek.

" _Ты мой_ ," Anatoly murmured and Matt titled his head in confusion. "Don't stop, Matvey."

The shower had started to grow lukewarm and Matthew turned it off, inhaling the steam and the natural scent of Anatoly drenched in desire. It was intoxicating and Matt hummed to himself as he mouthed the body underneath him. He used his teeth more than he normally would, but the Russian's breathy moans, low in the back of his throat, only spurred him onwards.

Both of his hands framed Anatoly's face as Matt's fingers danced across his skin. Now that the swelling had been dealt with his features became more pronounced. Sharp cheekbones, lines around his mouth, angular jawline rough with stubble.

"Handsome," Matt breathed between kisses. He pulled them out of the shower, letting Anatoly use him as a crutch, and didn't even towel off. "Bed, _now_ ," he ordered and they shuffled backwards until their knees hit the mattress.

"What will my _ubiytsa_ do to me?" Anatoly urged as Matthew lowered him onto the bed. He could hear the pain leave his voice as his body relaxed into the position and Matt smiled; made it turn predatory as he straddled the other man.

"I'm _yours_ now?" he asked and heard Anatoly's heart stutter and felt his skin flush hot. He was embarrassed, but hid it well as he answered back with a filthy moan. Interesting.

Matt ground his hips down on the Russian's, feeling the pierced cock slide between his ass and had to hold back his own noises. He really _did_ want to feel it inside of him.

"You like pain, right?" he asked rhetorically and let his hands skate over Anatoly's chest. He was thinner than Matthew, more compact, but very well built. He could feel the definition of the muscle and shuddered.

Anatoly's good hand gripped his thigh and squeezed. "Show me," he dared.

This man kept tempting him; kept calling to his Devil and beckoning him. Matt had always been ashamed of his darker side, praying to one day be a better man. A person worthy of being loved. Anatoly desired him as he was; full of sin and suffering—bottling his barely contained wrath. More than that he sought after the rage, pleaded for it to be directed at himself. An outlet begging to be used.

Matthew gazed through the sea of red and focused on the body underneath him, letting his senses form shapes and outlines. His eyes hurt from the strain as he _looked_ at Anatoly's face, where his eyes should be and felt the chest below hitch—his body still and cock swell further.

He let himself relax, let his walls come down. The Devil sauntered forward and Matthew tried to let his fear go.

"Do you have a safe word?" he managed to ask.

Anatoly snorted. "No need for such things in Russia."

"Don't say I didn't warn you." Matthew's hands came to life and found their prize. He rolled hardened nipples and pinched until Anatoly's body jerked. "We'll start here." Matt leaned down and latched onto one of the nubs with his teeth. He felt it swell at the attention, the blood rush underneath the skin as it grew heated.

His tongue swirled around, sucking to leave a bruise before nipping at the flesh. He didn't wait for a reaction as he bit harder, pulling up and pinching the neglected nipple with his free hand. Matt continued abusing the flesh, he could feel at one point both nipples had been pierced. The thought sent needles of pleasure down his spine. He switched to the other nub and lavished it just as much, twisting with teeth and flicking with his tongue. He bit until he tasted blood and kept playing until both were overly swollen and sensitive.

Anatoly was not a silent lover; his screams were shameless and lewd. His good hand was fisted into Matt's hair, holding his head down. His grip faltered when Matthew scratched his nails over his feverish skin, catching on the ruined nubs and sending a jolt so powerful through his body Matthew could taste in the air as bitter precome dribbled from his cock. He sobbed as Matthew sat up and felt his handiwork.

"So responsive now," Matt smirked. He rubbed his fingers across the inflamed nipples, pushing the pebbled flesh back into the skin and then tweaking them until hardened again. Underneath Anatoly thrashed, bucking and straining against Matthew. His fingers scrabbled at Matt's hip, trying to ground himself. "I imagine they're red now, covered in bite marks and bruises. When you wear a shirt for the next few days you'll feel it." Anatoly trembled, gasping, and he started to thrust against Matt in vain, seeking release.

Matthew's hand closed around his throat and pressed until he felt the airways close. A muffled whine escaped Anatoly as he tilted his head back to make it easier for Matt. Each time his lungs grew close to giving out Matthew released his grip and bent down to molest his nipples until the man started to climax—then he would bring Anatoly down abruptly by cutting off his oxygen. He continued this for several minutes until he had drawn his partner into a frenzied state.

Anatoly had stopped speaking English and only a slur of Russian escaped his lips. He was sobbing, begging Matt for release as his cock strained against Matthew's backside, soaking with precome and shivering with tension. Matthew's own excitement was demanding attention and he palmed his erection to relive the stress. He realized he was out of breath, chest heaving.

"How we doing?" he asked, feeling the man below shake and gasp.

" _Трахни меня!_ "

Anatoly had been repeating the words nonstop and Matt assumed it meant to keep going based on his level of arousal. He reached behind himself to run his fingers down the Russian's weeping cock, pressing it into the crack of his ass and groaning at the friction as he started to rock back and forth. Anatoly cursed as his body convulsed with all the stimulation. They were both _so close_.

"Now you keep your promise," Matt growled as he reached for his nightstand. His fingers fumbled, his focus scattered, and yanked the drawer open. He withdrew a bottle of lube and coated his fingers. " _Watch me_ ," he ordered and lifted himself off Anatoly. His free hand gripped the headboard as he leaned over his partner and pushed his fingers into himself.

 _Oh_.

Matt shuddered and his face grew hot. It had been a long time since he had done this to himself. A small hiss tumbled from his lips and he bit them to keep quiet. He slowly stretched himself out, careful not to press against his prostate. His entire body was so constantly over stimulated that even the slightest brush against his spot could send him over the edge.

"... _Matvey_." Anatoly's voice was ruined. So thick and guttural it made Matthew give a mortifyingly high pitched moan and his fingers sunk deeper into himself. A shaky hand placed itself on his chest.

Matt had been dimly aware that he was giving a free show and that it would probably spur Anatoly further into his passion. Apparently it had worked even better than he thought.

For just a moment, Matthew wish he could see the expression Anatoly wore.

"Next time, I want you to prepare me," he panted and felt a jolt of pleasure at the wail of sexual frustration that Anatoly gave. He was at the brink of what he could take, the sight of Matthew fucking himself with his fingers had him at the edge.

The mix of relief and the burn of pain as Matthew lowered himself down onto Anatoly's length had him release a soft sigh. He felt himself fill up and it made his toes curl at the satisfaction. Matt's inner dialogue was abruptly cut off as he _experienced_ all three of the dydoe piercings skim across his prostate simultaneously.

" _Fuck!_ " His scream echoed across the room as his body seized, clamping around Anatoly and making him cry out as well. Matt quivered, hands clutching the headboard, as he held absolutely still. " _Oh God_..." He was about to come.

"A-are you—?" Anatoly was trying to speak, trying not to orgasm himself as Matthew squeezed around him.

"It's your fucking piercings," Matt explained as he sensed the Russian's worry. He slowly forced himself to relax. "They hit my spot... _perfectly_." He took a gulp of air as he lowered himself carefully the rest of the way, whimpering as he could still feel the metal sliding inside him.

"I made you scream." A breathy chuckle was accompanied by a reassuring hand coming to grip his hip.

"I don't think either of us are going to last too long this time," Matt admitted and took a deep breath as he prepared himself.

"This time?"

Matt blinked.

"Yeah?"

"...there will be more?" Anatoly's voice had changed, less sure in its tone. Matthew bit his lower lip and nodded, face becoming hot.

"Yeah—I mean, if you want."

Anatoly's voice became choked, " _Не заставляй меня влюбиться так быстро_." He swallowed and when he sighed it sounded content. "You may have me as many times as you want." Somehow, Matt knew that wasn't a translation of what he'd said, but his body was still shaking in anticipation.

"You'll have to keep that promise too," he reminded and before Anatoly could reply he started a brutal pace. His hips hammered up and down, working Matt's abs harder than any workout routine. Anatoly's cry was drowned out a moment later by incoherent moans as he was ridden mercilessly.

Each time Matthew slammed himself down he felt the rounded ends of the piercings chafe against his prostate and send a shock of heat through his nerves. Matthew Murdock was not a quiet lover either and he grew louder with each thrust. Harder and harder until Anatoly's hand found his erection, neglected and burning, and slipped a finger over the slit.

Matt blacked out, his senses overloading as his climax struck him unexpectedly and he exploded.

.

* * *

.

Matthew's voice as he screamed while he orgasmed was something Anatoly would treasure forever. The utter bliss on his face as he spurted over Anatoly's chest was pure ecstasy, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was breathtaking to watch.

However, it pushed the Russian over the edge as well and he moaned as he felt himself spill into Matvey's body. White hot pleasure spread throughout his body and Matthew suddenly collapsed on top of him.

Anatoly grunted as the weight pressed against his fractured ribs.

"Matvey, too heavy," he gasped and rolled the younger man off. Matthew landed like a wet noodle, boneless and unmoving. Anatoly felt unease stir in his chest. " _Met'yu_." He shook the other's shoulder. Saying Matthew's full name felt awkward on his tongue, but Anatoly hoped he would respond to it.

Nothing.

The unease became worry and Anatoly slipped his good hand to cup Matthew's cheek. He huffed a sigh of relief when he felt the tickle of soft breathing against his skin. A smirk spread across the Russian's face as he realized he'd been such a good fuck that Matvey had _passed out_ in pleasure. He was never going to let Matthew forget it, either.

Actually...

Anatoly ran his thumb across Matthew's cheek, watching him sleep. His face was so peaceful; worries wiped away. He seemed so incredibly _young_.

Vladimir had wanted this young man to make his way back to Anatoly. Somehow he'd known Matthew was important to his brother. Not more important than Vladimir, but if he'd been as injured as Matthew had said then he must have realized he was never going to survive the night. Vladimir would fight tooth and nail to survive—and if he couldn't then he'd make sure it wasn't in vain. Matthew was what he could give to Anatoly to make sure his brother kept on living.

 _"He said: 'you need to start living your own life'."_

That sounded like Volodya, constantly telling Anatoly not to worry and to get off his ass about things. He had dedicated his life to Vladimir's wants and desires. He'd thought his brother hadn't noticed or cared, but apparently Anatoly had been wrong.

"[Volodya, you're such as ass,]" Anatoly muttered, blinking away tears. "[He's fucking perfect.]"

" _Tolik_ ," Matthew exhaled as he stirred. Anatoly froze.

"Wh-what?"

"That's what Vladimir said your nickname was." Matthew's voice was muffled against the pillow. "It's cute."

Anatoly withdrew his hand to scrub it over his face and he held back a sob.

"I shouldn't have said it, I'm sorry."

" _Net_ , is fine." Anatoly glanced over, but Matthew's face was closed off, his empty eyes staring into the sheets. His hair was a disaster and Anatoly couldn't help himself. He ran fingers through the tousled strands as he continued, "Is good that you know."

The younger man closed his eyes, face content at the touch. "Did I say it right?"

" _No_." Anatoly chuckled, wincing as his agitated his ribs, but it was worth it to see Matthew's face bunch up in frustration as he tried to pronounce the name again. "Accent is horrible, Matvey."

"You're one to talk," was shot back. Matthew mumbled something in another language that Anatoly couldn't even pretend to understand.

"What language is that?"

"Spanish."

Anatoly had been told that Americans were notoriously bad at learning other languages. Matthew was full of surprises.

"Special nickname for you," he tried to appease. "Call me _Tolya_. Is nickname _only_ for you."

" _Tolya_ ," Matthew whispered and it sent a thrill of possession through Anatoly. "Fair enough, since you call me _Matvey_."

"Is cute nickname."

Matthew huffed and reached out, feeling Anatoly's face. "You're smiling." A grin formed on his own face in response. "It feels nice."

"Are...you are not hurt?" He had to make sure. Matthew's eyebrows quirked. "You went very still—was worried."

"Oh," Matthew's face became red. "Just—I told you I _'see'_ through basically sensing the world around me?"

" _Da_."

"All of my senses are greatly heightened from an average person's...including my sense of touch." Anatoly's stomach coiled in delight as he realized what his partner was saying. "I usually have tight control over it, b-but when I come...um, it hits me pretty hard." He looked ashamed and Anatoly didn't like it.

"That is—how you say, amazing?" Matthew's face shifted in his direction. "I want to learn all your body. If ok?"

"I—" Matthew blinked, like he'd expected something else. He sat up and crossed his legs, a frown on his face. "You can stay, if you want. I don't think it'd be safe to leave; Fisk thinks you're dead and that's a very good thing."

"I can stay?" Anatoly hadn't wanted to presume, just Matvey saying he wanted whatever it was they were doing to continue had been enough.

"Do you have anywhere you can even go?"

"...no." There was nowhere left for him.

"Then stay and...we'll make it up as we go along." Matthew shrugged, but a smile broke over his face; shy and hopeful. Anatoly realized he could never deny that look. It seemed like Matthew wasn't used to getting what he wanted, same as Anatoly. He really was perfect for the Russian.

"Then I stay for you, Matvey."

.

.

* * *

.

The End.


End file.
